


Beth (I Hear you Callin')

by Cheezewarrior



Category: Glee
Genre: AU: No pregnancy, Angst, Coming Out, Drama, F/F, Family Drama, Futanari, G!P, G!P Santana, Girl Penis, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23008060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheezewarrior/pseuds/Cheezewarrior
Summary: The Summer before Freshman year was the best time of Santana's life. But it ended in disaster, ending her affair with Quinn as well as ending their friendship. After a year has passed and the two are brought back together by a night fueled by repressed passion and alcohol. And the consequences of their reunion will change everything. For good. AU no pregnancyG!P Santana
Relationships: Quinn Fabray & Noah Puckerman, Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez, Rachel Berry & Quinn Fabray & Santana Lopez & Brittany S. Pierce, Santana Lopez & Brittany S. Pierce, Santana Lopez & Rachel Berry
Comments: 47
Kudos: 168





	1. What Happened to us?

"Have you ever had an isolated time in your life where you felt so incredibly good you can hardly believe that it's real life? The things you go through, the people you meet in that time are so monumentally important to you that once it's all over you know nothing will never be just like it was beforehand. Because you didn't have this one prefect time in your life to compare everything else to.

Whether it lasts a day, three months, a year, two weeks, whatever length of time it may be, the significance is the same.

The feelings that you experience then are never matched, and you'll never have friends you love as much as those friends. Never will you love like you loved her. Never were you so honest with another person.

How do you cope with the rest of your life after that? Knowing that your life will never feel so good as it did in that period of time, how are you supposed to move on?

And now more than a year has passed and things have changed so much since then. You don't talk anymore, and when you do you're just trading barbs, purposefully trying to hurt one another.

You know that once you're both gone from this place, you'll never see her again, and it hurts. And somehow it hurts more knowing that the time you spent together probably didn't mean this much to her.

It didn't hurt her like it hurts you to move on because to her it was just something to pass the time with. A dalliance.

Does it make you feel pathetic?

Does it hurt more or less knowing that someday you'll forget the details? Decades from now when your mind begins to fade, so will she. You can't remember what exactly she said, and you can't remember her name. You can't remember how this story went. You can't remember her face. Was she beautiful? How did she look when she looked at you? How did she make you feel?

I'm not sure how I would feel if I ever forgot.

Relieved? So maybe now I could experience things without comparing them to something better.

Heartbroken? Because now I've lost even the memories of something Incredible and unique.

How do I find the energy to be interested in the rest of my life? What's the point when I know I'll never have that again?

Do you wonder if you could go back, would things turn out differently? If you could save what you had together?

Britt? Britt, are you even listening to me?"

Santana asks her best friend with a drunken whine. She's seated next to Brittany on Puck's couch in the middle of one of the football player's famous ragers.

This one in celebration of the fact that he finally - after months of breaking his back on the daily grind - finally completed Cuphead on his X-box.

Clearly any occasion is an occasion to party for Puck.

Brittany pulls back from her lip-lock with a guy Santana doesn't recognize. Maybe he's one of those pricks from Dalton.

The blonde turns toward her best friend from her position straddling the strange boy. Santana, who had been sobbing her way through her long winded monologue, sniffles as she looks to Brittany expectantly through watery eyes.

Brittany feels a little bad for not having heard a word of it, but in her defense the bump & grind music playing over the speakers in Puck's living room are kinda overwhelming all other sound in the room. And she's been pretty busy - y'know - bumping and grinding.

"Totally, San."

With that, she turns back to the boy and resumes her attempt to eat his face.

Santana huffs childishly, and turns away from Brittany. She wipes her face clear of tears and - ew - snot. Totally not hot.

To cope with her horrifying display of fugliness, Santana attempts to upend the rest of her beer down her gob, only to find her cup to be empty. Santana stares at it with a stunned gaze for a moment before bursting into tears once again, throwing the plastic cup to the ground impetuously.

"And now my beer left me too! What did I do to deserve this? Britt? Britt, pay attention to me!"

Brittany then shoots up from the boy's lap, and looks down at Santana, who pouts up at her friend. Brittany then pats Santana on the head comfortingly.

"It's okay, Sanny. You're still totes hot. So things can't be all that bad! Cheer up, Charlie!"

Santana sniffles.

"I guess that's true. I am hot."

Brittany beams at her, then pulls her boytoy up off the couch to stand beside her.

"Would it make you feel better to come do sexy times with me and... whoever this guy is?" Brittany asks, clearly sincere.

The nameless boy speaks up for the first time. "My name is-"

Brittany shoves her finger to the boy's mouth, shushing him before slurring-

"Don't ruin it."

Brittany turns back to Santana, who pouts more intensely.

"I'm not in the mood for sexytimes." Santana huffs. "What are you in the mood for, then?"

Santana stomps a foot and crosses her arms angrily. "I don't know!" She grumbles.

Brittany shrugs, then turns to the chair nearest the couch to appraise a bespectacled redhead sitting there awkwardly sipping her beer.

"What about you? Wanna come do sex with us?" Brittany says it as if she's just asking the time. Meanwhile, the redhead chokes on her drink, coughing violently before looking up at Brittany incredulously.

Brittany tilts her head inquisitively, prompting the redhead to stutter out- "Um... I- Well, I mean - as it were, I just so- i mean..."

Brittany is unfazed by the girl's babbling. The girl clears her throat, and sits up straight- "That sounds nice."

Brittany grins widely, and helps the girl out of her chair before turning back to Santana.

"We'll be in Puck's room if you change your mind, okay San?"

And with that, Brittany and her party of three are gone, disappeared to that realm of teenage lust that is the second floor of the Puckerman residence.

Santana struggles to stand from the couch and keep her balance, but once she's gained control of it, she starts shakily stomping through the mosh of horny teenagers toward the front door.

She mutters angrily to herself the whole time.

"Stupid Dalton prick. Stupid Puck and his stupid party. Stupid hobbit. Stupid-"

Santana freezes in the doorway when a low, smooth voice breaks through her booze-induced haze. "What did manhands do now?"

Santana turns to the railing of the porch where Quinn is sitting, smoking a cigarette. Tight jeans and a jean jacket draw Santana's attention first. Then the cup in the blonde's hand. Finally the hazy look in her eyes.

Santana straightens herself up and scowls at her former friend.

"Nothing. At least not lately. But as a rule, fuck her in general."

Quinn smirks, making Santana's heartbeat pick up for a moment, before the darker girl forces an even meaner look, trying to shove down the old feelings fluttering back to life in her chest. How the fuck is she so collected right now?

She walks toward Quinn, scowling up at her, before nodding to her cigarette. Quinn takes her cue and hands the smoke to her.

Santana takes a long draw, and turns around, looking out at the neighboring homes in Puck's neighborhood.

Quinn takes the opportunity to soak in Santana's body, clothed in cut off short shorts, and a tight shirt, with a flannel button up over it. When Santana turns back towards Quinn, the blonde snaps her gaze back up to the latina's face.

"Why the fuck do you care anyways, Fabgay?"

Quinn finally loses some of that infuriating cool, and summons some of that HBIC fire. She hisses out- "Don't call me that, Satan! I'm not gay!"

Santana, now feeling in control of both herself and Quinn, smirks, and saunters closely to Quinn. Leaning in so near she can smell the intoxicating scent of the blonde. Strawberries and cream. Old books. God she's missed this.

"That's not what you said when I had my tongue inside you. Or when you begged me to fuck you. Every. Single. Day."

Quinn's pupils dilate. Her breath catches. She whispers back to Santana. "Shut up."

"You miss it, don't you? Miss me filling you up. Miss-"

Quinn shoves Santana away from her, and storms off the porch. Santana doesn't think twice before jogging after the girl.

"Why you running away, Fabgay? Can't take a little home truth?" Santana mocks.

Quinn growls back at her, "You don't know shit, Santana!"

Santana laughs haughtily at the cheerleader. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

"Stop following me!"

"I'm not following you, dumbass. I'm walking home."

Quinn huffs. Living two doors down from Santana was a blessing just a year ago. Ever since that day, however, the last day of summer before Freshman year, their close proximity has become a curse.

"Well walk home later. Why don't you go back to Puck's and roll around in bed with Brittany? That seems to be what you waste all your time doing these days."

Santana scoffs and picks up her pace so she can look Quinn in the eye.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Quinn rolls her eyes, pointedly not looking at Santana.

Santana growls, and grabs Quinn by the arm, pulling her to a stop.

"No. You don't get to do that. You're the one who broke it off. You were just 'experimenting', remember? See what it's like to 'fuck the freak', remember? I told you I loved you, and you told me to go to hell. Remember? So you don't get to feel jealous of me and Brittany. You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Quinn feels an overbearing weight constricting her throat as she struggles to maintain her cool. She clears her throat, then rips her arm from Santana's grip.

"Get over yourself, Lopez. I'm not jealous. I just think that if you're going to insist on sinning so constantly, at least keep it in the bedroom. I'm tired of walking in on you two in the locker room. You're like animals. Learn some self-control for god's sake."

Santana steps closer to Quinn.

"Or maybe you wish you were still the one sinning in the locker room with me."

Quinn grits her teeth, hating herself for how wet she's getting.

"Fuck you, Santana."

Santana leans in even further, their breasts pressed together, her hand pushing aside the hem of Quinn's jacket to skim the tips of her fingers over Quinn's side.

Their lips now just inches apart. Santana's sweet breath co-mingling with the mint of Quinn's.

Santana then brings her free hand to the small of Quinn's back, roughly pulling her even tighter into her warm body.

Santana licks Quinn's lips lightly before kissing her bottom lip so softly it's hardly there. Quinn's eyes fall shut as her breath draws in heavily, shaky upon exhale.

Santana moves suddenly to barely skim the skin of Quinn's neck with her lips, inhaling deeply as she moves up to the taller girl's ear. She pulls Quinn's earlobe into her mouth, sucking on it slowly, pulling a moan out of Quinn. Once Santana releases the blonde's ear, she moves ever higher to whisper into her ear.

"No."

With that, Santana shoves Quinn away, and begins to walk once again, leaving the stunned girl behind.

Quinn inhales sharply. Her hand reaches instinctually for the crucifix hanging from the chain around her neck. Her eyes pinch shut tight, and she whispers to herself.

"Please."

Her eyes open as she feels the pattering of a light rain upon her head. it doesn't stay light for long, though. escalating quickly into a downpour. Santana's form comes to a halt beneath the orange glow of the streetlight at the far end of the block.

"Goddammit."

She looks over her shoulder at Quinn, still clutching her crucifix and mumbling to herself. She shouts back to the blonde.

"Quinn?"

No response. Quinn doesn't even react outwardly to Santana.

"Quinn? Come on, man, we gotta get out of this rain!"

She sighs deeply, before trudging towards Quinn.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Can we go now?"

Before she can get too close, Quinn turns back the way they came from and sprints down the sidewalk.

"Shit. Quinn!"

Santana takes off after her, splashing through the rapidly flooding Lima streets. Following Quinn at every turn.

They eventually move further from the residential neighborhood into Downtown Lima. Or the closest thing to a "downtown" sector as a town like Lima can conjure up.

"Quinn, where are you going?" She shouts once more.

Santana struggles to keep up as Quinn makes a sharp turn through an alley between a barber shop and the one Thai place in town. The latina growls-

"Goddamn your stupid, long, sexy legs."

As Santana tries to make the turn as Quinn did, she slips on the pavement, and crashes down into a puddle. She growls, and jumps back to her feet, stumbling over a twisted ankle and a bloodied knee. Despite the injury, Santana storms faster than ever after her once friend.

_When I catch up to her, I'm gonna kick her lily white ass._

"Quinn! Get your ass back he-"

she cuts herself off as she grinds to a halt once emerging from the alleyway. Stepping slowly forward, a worried crease forming between her brows.

Standing in the middle of the road is Quinn, staring across the street at her church. The blue red from the neon sign adorning the Thai place illuminates the back end of the girl.

Santana walks cautiously toward Quinn. Once she comes within reaching distance of the taller girl, Santana slowly raises her hand to rest upon Quinn's shoulder. She watches her with concern, biting her lip nervously before scraping out her words.

"Quinn, I... Can-"

Quinn ignores her, and walks toward the church with an exhaustion usually reserved for a man marching down death row.

_Why am I here? She hates me. I'm the last person she would want around right now. And she's treated me like garbage for the past year. Why would I help her? Why should I comfort her._

But no matter how rigorously that voice within her argues to abandon Quinn, she always arrives at the same answer.

_Because I love her._

Santana follows Quinn into the church hesitantly.


	2. I Wanna Touch You (but it's too late)

Quinn kneels at the altar, towering form of Jesus nailed to the cross looming over her as she prays.

"- clean me of these wicked thoughts, oh lord, that I may not fall down that dark path again. I swear t-"

"Melodramatic much? Everyone gets horny, Quinn. No need to aggrandize it like your pussy is the One Ring of Power or some shit."

Quinn clenches her fists and grinds her teeth. "Amen."

She then stands to face Santana, sneering at her.

"I'm surprised you could walk through those doors without bursting into flames."

Santana smirks.

"Honestly, so am I."

Quinn shakes her head lightly, then turns away from Santana once more, kneeling back at the altar.

"Leave me alone, Santana."

Santana walks slowly toward Quinn, crossing her arms, but eyes with nothing but sadness and worry.

"You've got to stop doing this to yourself, Q."

Quinn keeps her head bowed as she responds. "I have to repent. I'm not supposed to have these thoughts. It's wrong."

Santana kneels next to Quinn and reaches for her clasped hands, prying them apart and winding their fingers together. Quinn pulls breath into her lungs shakily, trying with everything in her to will away the watery pressure behind her eyes. All she can focus on is how soft yet strong Santana's hands are.

"Why is it wrong?"

Quinn's voice quivers, internally chiding herself for letting the tears fall down her face.

"If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them."

Santana rolls her eyes.

"Well luckily neither of us are dudes."

Quinn finally lifts her head to glare at Santana, and she growls out -

"Stop fucking joking, Santana! You know how important my faith is to me."

Santana sighs deeply and says, "Yeah, and this is the same book that said eating shellfish, and wearing cloth of mixed fabrics is an abomination. And it also says all sins are equal in the eyes of God. We've been forgiven, Quinn. And I don't even buy that framing of it. I won't accept that the way I feel about you is a sin.

Quinn drops her head to stare at the floor, tears dripping down to patter the surface along with the water dripping from her hair.

Santana tilts her head to an angle where she can see Quinn's face.

"And even if it was, even if I'd be damned to hell for loving you,"

She releases one of Quinn's hands so she can reach up to cup Quinn's chin, turning it towards her so she can meet Quinn's teary gaze.

"- I'd love you anyway. Because you're worth it."

Quinn sobs quietly, gripping the hand on her chin, hesitantly at first, but once her lips make contact with Santana's knuckles, she abandons her reservations and plants kisses to every inch of the latina's hand, front and back, all the way to the tips of her fingers. She pulls back with a heartbroken sigh.

"My dad would kill me."

Santana cups both of Quinn's cheeks in her palms, bringing their faces closer and closer as she whispers assurances to the blonde.

"I would never let him hurt you."

Quinn sobs harder, breaking Santana's heart.

"He'll kick me out."

Santana's forehead meets Quinn's as they drift ever closer.

"You can stay with me."

Quinn's eyes open, still streaming, but meeting Santana's dark stare.

"I... I just... I-"

Santana closes the distance, their lips meeting in an immediately passionate kiss. Quinn moans deeply as Santana pulls their bodies together, Quinn gripping Santana's hip and back as if it were a lifeline. As if when she lets go, the other girl will disappear, and she'd be left alone once again.

Santana brings a hand up to the root of Quinn's damp hair, fisting the locks, and pulling so that Quinn tilts her head backwards, granting Santana access to her neck.

Quinn lets out a gutteral moan as Santana roughly sucks and licks the soft skin at the base of her throat. "Fuck, S."

Santana growls in excitement at Quinn's breathy whispers. She pushes her body further into Quinn's, making the blonde lay back onto the floor, Santana lying atop her, pressed in between Quinn's beautifully thick thighs.

Quinn moans louder as Santana grinds her hardness into her covered center, lifting her hips into Santana's thrusts.

Santana pulls away, smashing her lips into Quinn's once again, sucking the girl's tongue into her mouth. Quinn shudders, hands shaking in an overload of sensation. She brings them up to unbutton Santana's shirt, the other girl not breaking their kiss in the process of shrugging the shirt off her body.

She finally does break the embrace, however, to peel her revealing undershirt off. Quinn's self control snaps then, reaching up to yank the bra down, Santana's brown-tipped breasts falling from the restraints. Quinn wastes no time in lunging upward to take a nipple into her mouth, gently teething it as she sucks and licks at the hard nub. Now Santana is the one to moan, and moan loudly.

"Oh, fuck, baby. Oh god, you feel so fucking good."

Quinn hums in pleasure into the beautiful, darkened breast, then pulling away to suck the other into her mouth. Santana begins panting, and thrusting once again, bringing pleasured sighs from both girls.

When Quinn releases her other nipple at last, Santana shoves her back to the floor, reaching down to unbutton Quinn's jeans, Quinn lifting her hips to assist Santana's attempt to pull the tight jeans off the blonde. Santana kisses Quinn one last time before crawling down her perfect body until she's face to face with Quinn's soaked panties. She buries her face in-between Quinn's thighs, deeply inhaling her scent and pushing her tongue into the fabric, wetness of her tongue meeting wetness of Quinn's pussy.

Quinn screams in ecstasy as Santana licks at her rigorously. The darker girl pulls back so she can grip the cotton barrier, tearing them away, not caring in the slightest that they're now ruined. She leans back down, close enough that Quinn can feel her hot breath on her lower lips, but Santana just looks, soaking in the sight of Quinn's dripping core. ' _Art'_ she thinks to herself.

Quinn groans in discomfort and raises her hips toward her lover.

"San... baby, please."

Santana leans into her, and ever so lightly brushes her tongue up Quinn's labia, parting her lips slightly, until the muscle meets the pearl of Quinn's clit. The blonde lets out a gutteral moan. Santana can tease no longer, however, pushing her mouth onto the taller girl's pussy, pushing her tongue deep into the tight channel, humming in delight at the taste of her. _'Fuck, I've missed this'_ she thinks before her mind goes completely blank, losing all ability to focus on anything but lapping and thrusting her tongue into the velvet tunnel.

"Oh god! Fuck, San!"

Santana moves up to suck Quinn's clit between her lips, sucking hard as she slides two fingers into the blonde's cunt, sawing them inside and out, curling them up to press the spongy spot inside her.

Quinn screams a strained whistle of a scream as she cums hard all over Santana's fingers, Santana pulling them out so she can suck the cum out of her, moaning loudly at the taste.

Quinn pants, body slack as Santana continues to lap at her. She quickly recovers, and pulls Santana's head up so she can look at her. Her eyes darken further at the sight of her juices glistening on Santana's face.

Quinn pulls Santana up to meet her in a heated kiss, Quinn sucking the taste of herself from Santana's tongue, then pulling back so she can lick the remaining cum from the latina's cheeks.

"Fuck, that's hot."

Quinn chuckles against her cheek, then pulls back, cupping Santana's glowing cheeks, and staring adoringly into her eyes. Quinn closes the distance, kissing her gently. Soft lips slide against one another as tongues meet and explore each other's mouths.

It doesn't take long for it to heat up, the two groping at one another, trying to find the perfect spots to drive the other wild.

When they pull away, Quinn breathes out against Santana's lips,

"Take off your pants. I want you inside me."

Santana growls, pulling back to lean back on her knees, reaching down to undo the belt on her shorts. Quinn slaps her hands away and takes over, undoing it and pulling the shorts down Santana's caramel thighs, her cock springing out, and Quinn immediately wraps her hands around it. She spits on her palms and strokes it slowly before licking her lips, and wrapping them around the head.

"Oh, fuck, Q."

Quinn strokes the shaft, allowing more and more into her mouth with every pump, until finally takes all 9 inches down her throat, gagging a bit, but powering through, grabbing onto Santana's thighs and pulling herself further into Santana's groin, bobbing her head back and forth rapidly - fucking her own throat onto Santana's thick cock.

"Fuck, Q, I'm gonna cum."

Quinn pulls back abruptly, leaving San's cock nice and wet with spit. Quinn ducks down to take San's swollen balls into her mouth, pressing her erection onto her face, stroking it slowly.

Quinn releases Santana's balls with a pop, still stroking and giving kitty licks to the tip.

"Fuck, Q... Let me cum! Please, baby!"

Quinn rubs the cock up and down her face as she speaks.

"Brittany can't make you feel like this, can she?"

Santana whines, squeaking out,

"No, Q, just you."

"Say it."

"Brittany can't compare to you, baby. You're so much better. You make me feel so good."

"You're mine, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, Quinn."

Quinn stops stroking.

"Say. It."

Santana doesn't hesitate. She was so close that she'd confess to first degree murder to cum right now.

"I'm yours, baby. I've always been yours."

Quinn growls, resuming her stroking, slowly at first, but building up speed fast, licking Santana's cock, pressing her pillowy lips against the head.

"Cum on me, San. Cum on me."

"Oh fuck!"

She explodes, ropes of cum shooting onto Quinn's face, the blonde shutting her eyes, moaning as she's painted in white. She lets her mouth fall open so she can catch some in her mouth, swallowing instantly. When the torrent of cum ceases, Quinn pulls the cock back into her mouth, sucking every last drop out of the dark girl. She deepthroats her cock, humming as it slides into the back of her throat.

Santana's arms flail about, screams flowing from her mouth with no restraint as she's overwhelmed by the sensation of her sensitive prick being sucked on so harshly. Quinn bobs a few more times before pulling back, releasing the still-hard cock. Quinn brings her fingers up to her face, wiping the cum away, and sucking it off her fingers, swallowing it all down. She lets out a pleased groan, as if it were the most delicious dish she'd ever had.

"Stay hard, baby."

Santana lets out a throaty laugh as she lays back.

"I don't think you have to worry about that."

"Good."

Quinn straddles Santana's hips, leaning onto her palm so that her upper body leans down toward San, while using her free hand to grab onto the latina's cock, rubbing it up and down her wet pussy, coating the hardness in her natural lubricant.

Both of them groan in pleasure. Quinn then takes the plunge and guides it into her, sighing in ecstacy at the way the rod stretches her just right.

"Oh god, Quinn."

Quinn doesn't give herself but a moment to adjust before she starts bouncing up and down on Santana's cock, letting out a constant stream of whimpers as it hits just the right spots. "God, San, I've missed your cock so much."

Santana grunts, too busy focusing on the feeling of Quinn wrapped around her. She places her hands on Quinn's hips, but not guiding her, allowing the blonde complete control.

Quinn stops bobbing up and down and begins grinding back and forth. Santana sliding her hands further back to take Quinn's firm ass into her hands, Squeezing the cheeks roughly.

Quinn pants between words, "Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh fuck, oh god!"

She grinds faster back and forth. Faster still, rotating her hips with the grace of a dancer.

"I'm close, San, baby."

Santana nods, breathing out, "Me too, Q."

Quinn slows down a bit, nearly worn out. Santana sees an opportunity and seizes it, flipping them, thrusting in and out of Quinn's slick tunnel from atop her. Quinn's arms hastily wrap around the shorter girl, nails digging into the flesh of her back. She doesn't hold herself back, screaming out as Santana takes her closer and closer. Santana dips her head down to suck and bite at Quinn's neck, marking her. Quinn screams louder still, pulling one of her hands from her back to tangle into San's dark hair as she hammers faster and harder into the girl beneath her.

"Cum in me, San. Inside. I need to feel you. Fill me with your cum."

Santana groans fiercely, thrusting as fast and hard as she can, reaching one hand between them to circle Quinn's clit with her fingers, pinching it lightly between to of her uppermost knuckles and massaging it with a third finger.

That's the threshold for Quinn. The wire that had been winding tighter and tighter in her snaps, causing the girl to shake, and scream silently. The way Quinn tightens and clenches around Santana drives her over the edge, pulling back from the crook of Quinn's neck as she lets out a primal groan from deep within her.

As Santana's warm cum shoots deep into Quinn, her silent scream becomes silent no longer, but loud enough to be heard from the heavens.

Santana collapses atop Quinn, breathing raggedly, back rising and falling as she tries to even her airflow out.

Quinn's hand reaches up to stroke Santana's hair lovingly.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?"

"I... never mind."

A tense silence follows as Quinn's hand stills in the latina's hair. She unwinds her fingers from the raven curls and takes Santana's face in her hands, tilting it up to meet her eyes. Quinn's endless pools of gold and green stare into the darkness of Santana's chocolate orbs.

"I love you, Santana."

Santana's eyes fill with tears immediately, biting her bottom lip as she tries to keep it together.

"I love you too, Lucy.

Quinn's eyes soften further at the name.

"You know if anyone but you called me that, they'd get a slushy bath worse than anything the midget's taken."

Santana snorts as she leans in to kiss Quinn softly. Amused words spilling through as their lips part.

"Don't talk about Berry while I'm inside you. You'll kill the mood."

Quinn laughs and resumes playing with Santana's hair.

"Sorry."

They share a moment of comfortable silence. Content just the way they are.

After a while, Santana moves to pull out of Quinn, who whines in disappointment.

"Sorry, babe. Gotta go find us a blanket or something. It's cold as balls in here."

Quinn throws her discarded shirt at Santana petulantly.

"Hurry back!"

Santana smirks at her. "Hey... it's me!"

Quinn rolls her eyes at her lover with a fond expression.

"Star Wars quotes. Why am I not surprised? You haven't changed a bit."

Santana smirks.

"Why would I want to do that? I'm awesome."

With that she goes to look around some of the other rooms in the church, leaving Quinn alone with her thoughts. As her eyes drift up to the carved Jesus looming above her, she feels a stampede of guilt drop through her stomach. She sits up, reaching to grasp the cross hanging from her neck. Her eyes fill with tears once more.

"Sinner."

* * *

Santana finds a closet near the priest's office full of pillows and blankets. In case of emergencies requiring people to flood to the sanctuary of the church, she assumes.

Santana grabs a handful of blankets and two pillows and walks back the way she came toward the main hall. She freezes in the doorway when she returns to find her clothes littering the ground. Only her clothes. Quinn and her belongings are gone. Santana walks over to the pew nearest ground zero of their lovemaking, sitting and clutching the pillows to her chest tightly. Her gaze rises to scan the wooden Jesus standing tall.

It's then, for the first time in years, with tears running down her face, Santana prays.


	3. (Ain't Made for the) Faint of Heart

Once Santana cried out all the sadness she would allow herself to feel, she skimmed completely over the pool of any other emotions she could possibly be inclined to feel over Quinn's abandonment, and spears straight into fury.

And she maintains that fury throughout the rest of the weekend and up until she storms through the doors into McKinley high. Fierce red, the same shade as her cheerios uniform, painting her lips like warpaint. Her hair pulled into the tightest, highest ponytail she could possibly manage. This is a woman on a mission.

The little people of McKinley scurry out of her way, her rage so palpable that anyone without a letterman jacket can smell it from a mile away, and they know to make themselves scarce, lest they suffer the consequences.

She marches right up to Quinn's locker, the blonde oblivious to the approaching danger as she roots around in her locker, getting her books ready for first period.

She stiffens when she senses Santana's presence behind her. She sighs, dreading this confrontation.

"Not now, Santana."

Santana fumes, grabbing Quinn's shoulder and spinning her around to face her.

"No. You're in no position to control this conversation, Quinn. We're doing this right now. We can either do it out here, or somewhere private, so I can yell at you properly."

Quinn bites her lip, looking away from Santana, trying to summon the right words.

"I can't lose my family, S. I just can't."

Santana nods, sarcasm running through her body language. "And how long do you plan on staying in the closet, then? You know if you hide in there long enough, eventually you'll need to start paying rent."

Quinn looks to the floor mournfully.

"I can't lose my family."

The smaller cheerio scoffs and crosses her arms, but still doesn't raise her voice, taking the bustling hallway into consideration.

"So what? You're gonna deny yourself any sort of happiness for the rest of your life to maintain your prick father's apathy? Or are you just gonna try to wait him out, just jump out of the closet after he croaks? 'Surprise, mothereffs, I like tig-ol-biddies!'"

Quinn's face hardens, ice cold. The HBIC has entered the building.

"Shut the fuck up, Santana. You don't know shit about my relationship with my father."

Santana raises a brow and gets in Quinn's face. "Oh yeah, Barbie? I know exactly the kind of person he is. I know you're constantly walking on eggshells so you don't step out of the rigid life path he laid out for you when he shot his load into Judy. So he doesn't call you a disappointment to your face. So he doesn't get all liquored up and talk to you like you're dirt. So he doesn't try to isolate you from your friends and push WASP approved replacements onto you."

"Shut up."

"You think I don't know what he said when you threw me out if your life last year? 'Glad to hear you're not associating with degenerate wetbacks anymore, sweetie." And you're terrified of what he might say if he knew that degenerate wetback is balls deep in his perfect little cheerleader on the regular."

Quinn snaps, roughly shoving Santana away, shouting at her,

"Shut up!"

The hallway goes silent as the freaks and geeks, the cheerleaders , jocks, and the comfortably invisible all gawk at the scene. It's a rare sight to see the HBIC lose control in such a way. Santana's always been the one likened to a raging fire in her fury, not Quinn, who's cruelty is ice cold, and deeply cutting.

Brittany cuts through the crowd, skipping cheerfully toward the other two thirds of the unholy trinity, now fractured, seemingly beyond repair.

"Hi guys!" She greets as she opens up her locker and hums an upbeat tune, going through the messy storage space, blissfully ignorant to the standoff just a few feet away.

The tall blonde closes her locker with a flourish and dances away from her friends.

"Bye guys!"

They still just stand there, glaring hatefully at one another. Quinn's eyes flicker to the side, just over Santana's shoulder. She forces a bright, but false smile and pushes past Santana.

Santana turns to find Quinn jumping into Finn's arms, kissing him deeply. Santana seethes as she looks on. When the two break the kiss, Finn smiles cordially down at Santana.

"Hey Santana. Haven't seen you around here in a while."

Santana growls at him, "Fuck off, Frankenteen." as she pushes past the two.

Finn looks down to Quinn with a dumb look.

"What's with her?"

Quinn stares after her former right hand of doom with conflict flickering through her face before hardening back into the role of the ice queen. Quinn rolls her eyes and grabs her books from her locker and shoves them into Finn's arms.

"I think she's PMSing. Now come on, you're walking me to class."

___________________________________

Santana glares after Finn walking down the hallway with his giant arm weighing down on Quinn's shoulder like an anchor, further and further away from her. Out of her peripheral vision she spots Karofsky looming over Kurt, undoubtedly about to torment the poor kid.

Santana smirks as an idea strikes her. She saunters up to the meathead and puts her fists on her hips, calling up to him.

"Karofsky!"

The ape man turns and stares down at the frightening cheerio.

"Santana. What's up?"

"Leave Glitter alone, or I'll introduce you to the razor blades I got stashed in my weave. Auntie Snix gots a new punching bag for you and the rest of your sycophantic gorillas on the hockey team."

"Who?"

"Hudson."

She pulls a fifty dollar bill from her bra and shoves it into Karofky's massive hand.

"Give dumbo the slushy bath of the ages."

Karofsky squints his eyes and bunches his brows together in worry.

"I dunno, Santana. Quinn will kill me if I fuck with Finn."

Santana raises a brow and presses a clenched fist roughly into Karofsky's chest.

"And I'll kill you if you don't fuck with him. You best thank sweet Mary that you ain't been in Auntie Snix's crosshairs yet, but that can change faster than it takes you to cream your jeans when you lay hands on Glitter. You don't want Snix to go Lima Heights adjacent on your ass."

Karofsky's eyes widen in shock and terror, turning to look at Kurt, who looks just as shocked. Karofsky turns back to the latina, filled with dread at Santana's unspoken threat: If you want to stay nice and cozy in the closet, you're my bitch.

Karofsky nods, and moves to give Santana her fifty back. Santana waves him off as she takes a few steps backward in preparation to turn and make her exit.

"Keep it. I'm rich, bitch."

And as she strides away, she calls back loudly, "You're welcome, porcelain."

Santana watches with antici...pation from across the hallway Quinn pulling more and more books from her locker and stacking them into Finn's arms, the quarterback looking strained with the effort of keeping hold of the pile.

Santana grins deliciously as she sees Karofsky and his goons marching down the hallway carrying two slushies each. And they're headed straight for Finn. Oh how she's going to relish this.

Quinn notices them first, eyes narrowing at the pack of jocks rolling towards them.

Karofsky stops when they reach Finn, his guys getting into tossing position.

"Hey Gumby!"

The moment Finn turns to face Karofsky he's bitch slapped by an iceberg. He drops Quinn's books as he tries to get the slushy out of his eyes.

"Karofsky, what the fuck?!" Dave nods at his guys, and they each toss their slushies onto Finn, soaking him in the chipped ice. He shouts in pain, then charges Dave, punches flying blindly, for he can't open his eyes for the fear of the slushy damaging his eyesight. Karofsky takes the first punch, but then elbows Finn in the back, sending him smashing into the floor. The other hockey players start kicking Finn in the sides before Quinn shouts-

"Stop!"

No one moves a muscle. Quinn steps toward Finn, curled into a ball on the floor, arms shielding his head from the blows of the jocks. Quinn clenches her jaw in frustration.

"Get up, Finn, you're embarrassing me."

She turns to address a couple of baby cheerios rubber-necking from the sidelines.

"Take him to the locker room. Wash that shit out of his eyes and one of you grab his gym clothes, so he'll have something to change into."

The cheerios nod fearfully and comply immediately, helping Finn to his feet and walking him down the hallway.

That's when Quinn turns her attention to Karofsky. She looks up at the gorilla man with hate in her eyes. Quinn crooks a finger at him, indicating for him to bend down to her level. Once he does, Quinn grabs onto his ears roughly, twisting with all her might. Karofsky screams in pain, dropping to his knees to try and ease the pain caused by the height difference between he and Quinn.

The HBIC then asks, in a completely collected and uncaring tone, "Who ordered it?"

David spits words through his pained groaning.

"No one! It was my idea."

Quinn chuckles at that. "I might buy that if I didn't suspect that that thick head of yours has never had an idea filter through it. As it is, you're probably borderline retarded. Which makes sense, considering you'd have to be retarded to slushy my boyfriend right in front of me. Now who gave the order?"

She twists harder, now pulling them as well. "Nobody! I swear!"

Quinn sneers, but her face goes blank when she feels eyes on her. Not just any eyes, though. Santana's. She turns her head and makes eye contact with the smug latina.

She speaks to Karofsky without taking her eyes from Santana.

"Get out of here, Karofsky. I'll decide your punishment later."

With that, she releases his ears, letting him and his buddies go.

She marches up to Santana, nose to nose, glaring at one another.

"Since you insist on making things difficult, things are about to get a whole lot worse for you. Si Vis Pacem Parebellum. Remember that you are the one who started this."

Santana just smirks in a profound display of disrespect.

"Bring it on, Barbie."

* * *

**One week later**

The rest of the week was far quieter that Santana had expected. She kept watching Quinn, waiting for her to Strike Back, as the Empire did. But it never came. The two just spent the week glaring at one another. But Quinn doesn't forget. She must be planning something big.

And now Santana sits in calculus, taking her tumultuous emotions out on her textbook, scribbling crude sketches over equations and other boring stuff like that.

Santana's hand trails off as she gets lost in her thoughts. Her mind going back and forth between Santana Lopez, and Auntie Snix

_'What's the end goal here?'_

_'What do you mean, end goal? She keeps hurting us. And I always gets mines back.'_

_'But I mean what purpose does it serve? Making her miserable isn't going to make her change her mind about coming out. So... why?'_

_'Because fuck her, that's why.'_

_'We already did that, though.'_

_'Oh! Wanky! That was a good one! Internal-monologue five!'_

_'Nice.'_

"Santana?"

She's pulled suddenly from her thoughts by the whispering of her name coming from beside her. Kurt sits there with a hesitant but genuine smile for her, leaning in toward her desk.

"What do you want, Liberace?"

Kurt lip turns up in a pleased smile.

"I'll take that one as a compliment."

"Of course you would."

Kurt looks into her eyes, truly earnest gratitude shines in his.

"I just wanted to thank you. For calling off Karofsky like that."

"Yeah, well I didn't do it for you. I just don't like pricks like him fucking with you just because you're a fairy."

That response confuses Kurt, while also planting a tiny little seed of an idea, or a suspicion really, in his head. But suspicions are one thing. Proof is another.

"You wouldn't really out him, would you?"

Santana turns away from Kurt.

"No. And neither will you."

"I would never!"

"Well 'never's aren't forever, Strawberry Shortcake. Principles are like asians. They can flip real fast given a good push."

The seedling takes this information in as sweet nourishment, wanting just a little more before it begins to bud.

"Why do you care, though? It's not exactly a secret that you're not his number one fan, to put it diplomatically."

She turns back to Kurt with a stony look.

"You aren't either. Why wouldn't you out him?"

Kurt is aghast at even the implication that he would do such a thing.

"Because I know how terrible that would feel. Especially in a town like Lima? He'd be eaten alive. I got lucky with my father at least. David's dad isn't so understanding. I never had the option of hiding in the closet, because of the way I am. Don't get me wrong, I love who I am, and I'm happy I don't have to hide it. But there are times I wish like hell that I did have a closet to hide in. I can see the appeal of never wanting to come out."

Santana raises her brows and tilts her head as if to say 'Get it?'

It takes a moment, but when it does sink in, Kurt's jaw drops in dramatic fashion.

"Ohhh... Oh!"

Santana lays her head atop her arms folded on the tabletop, resting her eyes. A clear indicator that the conversation is over.

"I probably wouldn't last a day in the closet, anyway. What's the point in looking so dazzling if I can't flaunt it?"

Santana smirks, but does not open her eyes. A moment of silence passes between them before Santana says in a sleepy voice,

"And don't let me hear you and Wheezy clucking back and forth about this. I will know. Understand?"

"Girl, you don't even have to ask."

"I wasn't asking. I was telling. Cause if my Mexican third eye catches sight of you gossip sluts mouthing about me, then you'll wish Karofsky was throwing you into lockers again. That troll ain't got shit on Snix, you feel me?"

Kurt gulps, then nods.

"Yeah. Yep, I understand. Totally."

"Aces. Now fuck off, will ya? I'm trying to sleep here."

"Santana Lopez?"

"Ugh, what now?"

She looks to the front of the classroom to find Becky standing next to Mr Funbar, who calls for her once again.

"Lopez, get up here!"

She rolls her eyes, but stands and drags her feet toward her teacher anyway. As she approaches, Becky stands with her arms crossed over her chest, doing her best to project authority.

"Coach Sylvester has need of you in her office. Becky will show you to her."

Becky puffs out her chest and stares up at Santana with what she thinks is a domineering stare.

"That's right. You're mine, bitch."

Funbar protests the girl's language, but sends them on their way. Becky marches rigidly, like a private stomping her way toward the fight. As they come to the office, Becky stands at attention in the doorway. Sue doesn't look up to acknowledge them, reading through some documents on her desk.

"I have the prisoner, coach. The mission was a total success."

"Excellent. You did good, Becky. Sit down, Lopez."

She still hasn't looked up at them, but Santana knows better than to hesitate.

"What's up, coach?"

Finally, Sue looks up at the cheerio, taking her reading glasses off the perch on her nose, letting them hang around her neck.

"Let's skip the foreplay, and get right to the nut. You're off the team, Lopez. I expect your uniform cleaned, pressed and returned to my office by 0900 tomorrow morning.

She puts her glasses back on, and goes back to her documents.

Santana sits in her seat, in a state of shock. So many emotions swirl around within her, millions of voices raging in her head, each trying to scream louder than the last. But through it all, one thing is consistent.

Santana is fucking pissed.

Sue looks back up in confusion.

"What are you still doing here? We're done. Go play in traffic, or whatever it is you people do."

"Why?"

"Well I don't know why you would want to play in traffic, but I assume it has something to do with being dropped on your head as a baby. At least twelve times, maybe more."

"No. Why am I off the team? I didn't do anything!"

Sue scoffs and leans back in her desk chair, taking the glasses back off and folding her arms across her chest.

"It's come to my attention that you've been breaking your diet. Consistently. Breadstix? Really? If you're going to stuff your face, at least make sure it's worth it. A nice 30 oz steak, or a burger made from the tender flesh of a baby Giraffe."

"Who told you I've been breaking diet?! This is bullshit! I'm the lightest person on the team! You're going to get on my ass about some fucking Breadstix, but say nothing to Q about the obscene amounts of bacon she shoves down her throat?!"

Sue stands abruptly, leaning over the desk, palms on the tabletop, glaring at Santana with a horrible menace.

"Don't test me, Amlo. I once survived 36 hours in a lion's den with nothing but my wits and a shiv I made out of a toothbrush. By the time they pulled me out, I had broken the beast's spirit, as well as 12 of it's teeth."

"Oh my god, I don't care! This is bullshit, Sylvester! I'm the best flyer on the fucking team! You can't kick me out!"

Sue maintains eye contact with Santana, a deadly battle of wills, as she calls out to Becky, "Becky, what is the first rule of my Cheerios?"

"Don't talk about fight club?"

"No, the other one."

"Oh! No fatties!"

Sue points to a sign above the doorway reading the phrase -

"No fatties! Now get out of my office, Columbo."

Santana stands from the chair roughly and storms out the door. Becky calls after her, "You better run, bitch!"

"You tell her, Becky."

As Santana barrels out of the office, she keeps her furious pace walking into the hallway. She paces up and down it, cursing under her breath in spanish. At some point it becomes to be too much and she punches a nearby locker.

"That's going to hurt like hell later."

Santana spins around to find Quinn lounging against a locker, cool smirk in place.

"You!"

Suddenly the bell rings and the hallway is flooded with students. Quinn's smirk falls away as she glances around nervously. The last thing she needs right now is for Santana to make another scene.

The latina intuits her thoughts immediately and rolls her eyes before grabbing the blonde by the wrist and pulling her into the nearest bathroom.

Santana releases her grip on Quinn's arm and checks the stalls to make sure they're absolutely alone.

"There. We're alone. Are you satisfied?"

Quinn sighs.

"Just say it, Sant-"

She's cut off by Santana shoving her against the wall and grabbing her by her uniform's collar.

Quinn protests vehemently. Or she tries to at least. "What the h-"

Santana punches the wall by Quinn's head, screaming in her face as she does.

"No! You shut the fuck up and listen to me! I'm done. I'm done with you! So I slushied your fucking beard, so what?! You don't even like the cunt. And you think that makes it okay for you to get me kicked off the fucking team?!"

Quinn's eyes widen.

"She kicked you off the team?"

"Of course she fucking did, what did you expect from a psycho like Sue Sylvester?! A hug?!"

Quinn feels so guilty that it's practically seeping from her pores.

"Santana, I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry, I thought she'd just chew you out, put you on the bottom of the pyramid for a few weeks, I never thought she mi-"

"I don't care what you fucking thought! You wanted me out of your life? Fine! I'm out. Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't think about me! We are done."

Quinn feels the unbearable weight of regret crushing her lungs, bringing tears to her eyes.

"No, San, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I treated you like... like.. I don't know what. Like an enemy. You're my best friend, Santana. I don't want to lose you. I can't. The past year has felt so... It's been terrible without you. Please, can't we just go back to how things used to be? Before all this started?"

Santana releases her grip on Quinn and backs off. Her breath shudders as the fight leaves her. She just feels drained now. Exhausted. In no shape to deny the emotions breaking through the surface. Her voice breaks, tears in her eyes too.

"I can't do it, Quinn. I can't take being around you. I just love you so goddamn much, and if I can't love you, my first instinct is just to take it out on you. It's fucked up, I know that. But I know you feel the same way. We're both just so fucked up, Q. I just- I can't."

The tears come pouring down unfettered by Quinn. She steps closer to Santana, endless pain lining her voice.

"So... this is it?"

Santana stands there for a moment, not looking at the other girl, panting from her emotional exhaustion.

She looks back up into Quinn's eyes, looking and feeling resigned. Lost, but reluctantly content with her pain.

"Yeah. I think it is, Quinn."

Quinn sobs quietly. Santana know she shouldn't, but she's always hated seeing Quinn cry, and so she pulls her into a hug. Quinn holds the shorter girl in a vice grip as she sobs into her shoulder. Santana is able to hold herself together moreso than Quinn, but not by much. Tears run down her face freely, and her chest feels like it's been crushed by a wrecking ball.

She kisses Quinn's hair, whispering to her, "I love you, Lucy Q."

Quinn sobs harder at that, but pulls back enough to look Santana in the face. She tries to force a smile, but it's far from convincing with her swollen eyes, tearstained face, and the hiccups taking her over; pitiful aftershocks of the all encompassing sobbing that she's just hardly stopped.

"I love you too, Santana. I always have. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doing this to us."

Santana shrugs weakly as she stares at Quinn's top, simply to avoid letting Quinn see her vulnerability she's sure is magnified through her eyes.

"I get it. I do, Quinn. I wish you would choose us over them, but I understand. You're scared. I am too."

Quinn sniffles and wipes at her eyes.

"I hate this."

San nods, still not meeting Quinn's gaze.

"Me too."

Quinn tilts Santana's face upward to meet her eyes. But her stare quickly flickers down to her lips. Santana notices and reciprocates in kind, licking her lips at the sight. Quinn asks in a breathy whisper,

"One for the road?"

Santana nods in such a miniscule way you wouldn't be able to notice unless you were inches away from her face as Quinn is. The blonde leans in and meets Santana halfway, slowly gliding their lips and tongues together in a unified dance, putting all their love, lust, passion, anger, and despair into the kiss. It's not perfect, but it's purely them. Everything they are boiled down into one act of love.

"Oh my god!"

The cheerios spring apart, both having been so absorbed in one another that they didn't notice the bathroom door opening, Mercedes and Rachel gaping at the two.

Rachel doesn't miss her window, interjecting at superhuman speeds.

"Pardon us! We didn't realize it was occupied, and we certainly didn't mean to interrupt anything. Let us get out of your hair-"

Mercedes can't let this, the hottest of hot tea go without taking her a big, tasty sip... so naturally she butts in.

"Oh hell no! What the eff is going on here? Since when are you gay?"

Santana shouts in the most frightening voice she can muster up, "Get out!"

And they don't hesitate, scurrying out the door immediately.

Santana then turns back to Quinn, who had been frozen in shock before, but now begins to hyperventilate. Santana grabs her softly by the shoulders, trying to center the terrified girl.

"Q, its okay. They won't say a thing. I'll do whatever it takes to keep them quiet. Calm down for me, baby. I need you breathe, Lucy."

Quinn's eyes flicker up to meet Santana's at the usage of her given name. Her panic seems to melt away. At least outwardly. Her expression hardens, and she pushes Santana away.

"Don't touch me!"

"No, Q, baby, don't st-"

Quinn doesn't even bother arguing with her, just shoving past Santana and storming out. Santana hesitates for only a moment before jogging out of the room herself in pursuit of Quinn.

But when she tears into the hallway, she sees no sign of the blonde in the crowd of migrating students. She's gone.

_She's gone_


	4. Wish You Loved Me (Like it's Yesterday)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, first off I want to thank you all for the love, it means a lot. Secondly, I wanted to update you on a schedule change. To prevent burnout, I've decided to space updates out to twice a week, on Mondays and Fridays. Thanks again! Enjoy the chapter!
> 
> -Kameron
> 
> P.S.  
> As you can see, I've brought the timeline forward so the story begins in 2019 instead of the canon start date in 2009.

**Friday, September 12th 2019**

Quinn sits in the waiting room alone, nearly breaking the skin of her bottom lip between her teeth. She's never been so nervous in her life. She's in so much agony, and all she wants is to feel normal again. But it's hard to feel normal when your body has betrayed you.

_God, please. Please._

Her thoughts are cut off by a nurse just entering the room, clipboard in hand.

"Fabray?"

Quinn looks up, nearly getting sick once again, but pushes it down. She stands to her feet shakily, following the nurse out of the room.

_I'll be alright. I have to be._

* * *

**Thursday, September 4th 2019**

Santana hopes to god that Quinn will talk to her when she arrives at school the next day, since she hadn't been answering her calls since the incident in the bathroom yesterday. And it's not like she can just knock on the front door of the Fabray residence and be welcome to come inside. Those days are long gone.

So as soon as Santana arrives at Mckinley Thursday morning, she tears toward Quinn's locker. She has to pointedly ignore all the stares at her as she strides through the hallway with her cheerios uniform in a dry cleaning bag over her arm and not clad onto her body. Instead, replacing it is a baggy green military jacket, a tight, cleavage baring v-neck shirt, and skintight jeans.

Santana feels naked without her uniform on. She knows the odds of these vultures taking advantage of her new vulnerability is about 310% to -46. She's come prepared, however; Multiple changes of clothes stuffed into her backpack, and a big ass paddle (ribbed for your pain) hanging from the strap of her bag.

Anyone who dared slushy Santana Lopez will get a red hot reminder that the reason you don't fuck with her ain't because of some uniform, but because she's batshit insane and armed.

She arrives at Quinn's locker to find her nowhere in sight. Santana sighs, and leans up against the locker, hoping if she waits long enough, the blonde will eventually show up.

_Might as well take this to Sylvester._

And so she does. And there is of course a great deal of gloating and telling ridiculous lies on Sue's part, at which Santana rolls her eyes and leaves without a word.

Worried in the time she's been gone, Quinn might have come to her locker and left, Santana takes large strides on her way back.

Nothing.

Santana waits an entire ten minutes for Quinn to arrive to no avail.

Santana checks her phone anxiously for the time.

_Shit._

She only has a few minutes before she has to go to Biology.

"She's not coming."

Santana looks up to find Rachel Berry standing nearby, hugging her books to her chest and glancing around anxiously.

"What?"

Rachel finally makes eye contact, but doesn't last long before glancing away again.

"You're waiting for Quinn, right? I overheard Coach Sylvester screaming at Principal Figgins for allowing her captain to go on a very sudden vacation for an entire week. She and her family went to New York to visit her ill great-grandmother."

Santana's shoulders sag, and she looks into space with an unreadable expression.

"And I bet she totally planted that seed. Russel doesn't visit Granny Fabray unless he absolutely has to."

Rachel reaches out to put her hand on Santana's shoulder in an attempt at comforting the slightly taller girl.

"It'll be okay. She's just panicking right now. I'm sure that once she calms down, the two of you can make things right between you."

Santana looks at Rachel's hand on her shoulder with repulsion, using just her thumb and forefinger to peel it off her and drop it so it falls limply at Rachel's side.

"Mmkay, first off: Never touch me. I don't want to catch your flesh-eating bacteria, or whatever it is that made your face like that."

Rachel scoffs petulantly as Santana continues,

"And secondly, don't talk about me and Quinn. Ever. Don't act like you know what our relationship is like. You don't know shit. And don't let me find out you've spoken about what you saw to anyone. Tell Chocolate and Milk I said double goes for them. Let's throw their self preservation and fetish for gossip in an arena and have 'em fight it out. See which comes out on top. Though I do have my suspicions."

Just as she makes to spin on her heel and make her dramatic exit, Rachel exclaims-

"Wait!" And grabs onto her wrist.

Santana wheels back around to growl in the diva's face.

"What did I just fucking say, midget?!"

Rachel releases her wrist immediately and begins speaking rapidly.

"I apologize. I had more to say, and I didn't want you to go without having articulated my thoughts. I simply wanted to offer my understanding of the situation and whatever help I might be qualified to provide for you at this time. I understand that being out in a town like this can be a frightening prospect. I'm treated… unkindly to put it diplomatically just for having two gay dads. And poor Kurt? It's unfair to be harassed and made to feel less-than equal simply because of who you love. Especially by one's own family, which I'm sure is a very real fear for Quinn. And so I just wan-"

Santana growls and covers Rachel's mouth with her hand.

"Where is the fucking off button on you?! I don't want help from you, and I- Ew!"

Santana yanks her hand back from Rachel, wiping her palm on her jeans.

"Did you seriously just lick my hand?! What the fuck, Frodo?!"

"As I was saying before, I honestly believe that if you just give her time and support, she might come out and you can still,"

Santana walks away with a roll of her eyes. Rachel doesn't let that deter her, though, and follows Santana, still jabbering on.

"-mend your relationship. I understand that her family makes her feel pressur-"

"She's not just worried about her family, RuPaul. She's like, super religious and buys into all the dogma about how gays should be burned at the stake and shit. She hates herself for being a total dyke, and she hates me because I make her face the fact that she's a total dyke."

Rachel hums in contemplation as they stride down the hallway on the way to their classes.

"That does make things more problematic. She just needs to come to a place of understanding that you can be religious and gay as well. They aren't mutually exclusive. While my dad is Jewish as I am, my daddy is a catholic. But he came to terms with his sexuality when he was still in high school, and now lives his life content with being gay and religious. He still loves himself. Perhaps he and Quinn could have a conversation! Surely that could help her reconcile those two very important parts of her identity."

Santana sighs and stops, turning to Rachel. For the first time in this conversation sounding resigned instead of hostile.

"Look, it's not that simple. One talk with your dad isn't gonna make her be okay with being out and proud. She has to handle this thing on her own. Her ditching for a whole week is a clear message to me that she is super fucked up about all this shit and just needs to pray on it or whatever WASPs do when they're scared and stuck in their heads."

Rachel looks to the floor in disappointment, but nods her head.

"I suppose you're right. I just… I feel really guilty about walking in on you yesterday. Maybe if I hadn't, things would have turned out better. I just want to find some way to _make_ it turn out better."

Santana sighs, still a little annoyed, but also with a little approval.

"Look, don't beat yourself up about it. That's my job."

Rachel involuntarily laughs at that.

"So, whatever, you're forgiven. Besides, I don't think things would have been better. When we kissed in the bathroom, I had just told her we can't be around each other, even as friends. If we can't be together, our first instincts are to hurt each other. I think we're really over this time."

"No! I refuse to believe that! All we have to do is-"

Santana gruffs out, interrupting the smaller girl.

"Why are you so invested in this, Yentl? It's Quinn and I's relationship. You ain't gots nothing to do with it."

Rachel blushes and looks away. She then goes into actress mode, and grins at Santana with a starry-eyed look.

"I'm just a romantic at heart. I cannot simply stand by and let true love wither away for no good reason!"

Santana narrows her eyes at Rachel, eyeing her up and down. She then sneers and points a finger in Rachel's face.

"This better not be some ploy to break Q and the Jolly Green Giant up, so you can hop up on his disproportionately tiny dick!"

Rachel's eyes widen in genuine shock and confusion.

"What are you talking about? I assure you I have no romantic interest in Finn Hudson."

Huh. Santana actually believes her.

_If it's not about Finn, what is this about?_

"Well good for you. I don't get what anybody sees in that dork. He's like the dopey dwarf from Snow White if he had Giganticism."

Rachel laughs.

"An accurate, yet cruel assessment."

"Well either way, just stay out of this. If it works out, it'll work out cause Q wants it to. Not because of any meddling by your tiny ass."

She shrugs her backpack higher onto her shoulder and begins to walk away. Rachel doesn't follow, but calls out to her.

"Just promise that if it becomes to be too much, that you'll remember you can always talk to me!

Santana rolls her eyes as she keeps striding away.

"Okay, whatever. Cross my heart and hope to die. Now fuck off back to your stables, My Little Pony."

Rachel stamps her foot and huffs,

"I am not a pony!"

* * *

That night, Santana sits on the bit of roofing just under the window to her bedroom. A cigarette hangs from her lips as she watches her phone go to voicemail again. " _This is Quinn, if I'm not answering I'm probably busy with the cheer_ -"

Santana hangs up again, huffing the smoke out of her lungs as she stares at Quinn's house, the house between hers and the Fabray's short enough to let her see right into Quinn's darkened bedroom through the window.

Memories involuntarily drift into her mind from last summer of her staring across from this very spot watching as Quinn changed in clear view of her window, Santana texting Quinn -

_"Damn, Q, even from this distance you be lookin' fine."_

Quinn would laugh and undress slowly, teasingly, texting back,

_"Bet I'd look better under you"_

Santana would laugh and text back, as her pants grew tighter.

_"Sneak out tonight?"_

_"I'll be there in five minutes."_

Santana is pulled out of her memories by a scratchy, accented voice coming from inside her window.

"Well, what have we here?"

Santana's eyes widen, and she tosses the cigarette off the roof. Santana's father, Benicio Lopez, leans out of her window, elbow propped upon the sill."

"Hi Papi!"

The goateed man chuckles and crawls through the window to sit beside his daughter, holding a six pack of Heineken.

"Don't stop on account of me, little Diabla. I'm a father, did you really think I didn't recognize the smell of tobacco all over my own daughter?"

Santana furrows her brow in confusion and concern.

"How long have you known?"

"How long have you been smoking?"

Santana pulls her knees up to her chest so she can hug them in shame.

"Year and a half."

Benicio nods.

"That long."

Santana scoffs at herself.

"Wow. Guess I'm not as sneaky as I thought I was."

Benicio laughs and nods. "No, you aren't, mija."

He pulls one of the beers out of the plastic rings holding the cans together. He hands it to Santana, who stares bug-eyed at her father.

The middle-aged latino then cracks one of the beers open for himself, taking a deep gulp. When he catches Santana's stare he shrugs.

"In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, I'd rather if my daughter drinks and smokes, she do it around me instead of sneaking around. That way I can make sure you're being safe."

Santana scans him suspiciously.

"You're not going to tell Mami about this, are you?"

Benicio turns to Santana with amusement dancing in his eyes. He then looks away and holds his hand out to her.

"Gimme your pack."

Santana sighs in disappointment and gives him her marlboros. Benicio pulls one out and lights it up, taking a slow drag deep into his lungs, his eyes closing in pleasure.

"I haven't had a cigarette in over ten years."

He turns to Santana.

"Your mother would kill me if she found out about this. So if I told her, you would of course, for self preservation, tell her that I smoked along with you. Understand?"

Santana smirks. Benicio chuckles again and hands her the cigarette, pulling another out for himself. Santana, nerves fallen away, finally opens her beer and takes a sip.

"Heineken? Really? Abuela would take a pan to your head for drinking German instead of Puerto Rican."

Benicio nods in agreement.

"There's a lot of things she'd take a pan to my head over. And don't forget, we're a fifteenth German too. Say what you want about the Germans, but they know their damn beer."

There's a comfortable silence as Santana sits, having a beer with her father. She hasn't felt so close to him in a long time.

"You've been depressed, mija. I hate seeing you like this. As frustrating as my little girl can be at times, a frustrated Santana is a happy Santana. I want to help you, but I can't if you don't talk to me about it."

Santana turns her watery eyes away from her dad, saying nothing.

"This has something to do with the fact that I haven't seen Quinn around here in a year or so?"

She still says nothing. What she doesn't take

into account is that to someone who knows her as deeply as her father does, silence can say a lot more than words.

Benicio nods, and takes another big gulp from his beer, crumpling the can when it's empty. He pops another and puts another atop the roof beside where Santana's seated.

"Russel Fabray is a cruel man. I can't imagine how it must feel to love a man like that. Constantly seeking approval he'll never give."

The tears begin to fall, Santana burying her face into her arms crossed over her knees.

"I love her, papi."

"I know, mija."

He puts his arm over her shoulder and pulls her into a side hug, Santana squeezing her arms around him tightly as she sobs into his shirt.

"I can't tell you how things will play out for you. I can't tell you she'll ever learn the courage to defy Russel. What I can tell you, and I hope you'll relay this to her; Quinn Fabray is always welcome in our home. If that bastard ever makes her feel unsafe in her home, or if he does something so heartless as to throw his daughter out on the streets, she can always stay here."

Santana nods into her father's chest.

"She knows, papi."

"Good."

They sit there silently for a long while, drinking until the beers are gone, sharing a few more smokes as well.

Eventually, Benicio kisses Santana on the temple and takes the trash with him as he gets up to leave.

"Wait, papi, you still hav-"

Benicio holds up her pack of cigarettes.

"These? Yeah, not happening kid. What kind of father would I be if I didn't confiscate this?"

Santana crosses her arms and huffs.

"You just want to smoke the rest of them yourself."

Benicio grins widely, holding a finger to his lips in a shooshing motion. He winks at Santana before ducking back through the window.

Santana sighs and lays down on the roof, gazing up at the stars.

* * *

**Monday, September 8th**

Santana walks down the hallway, covered in slushy and muttering furiously under her breath.

Azimio was the first one to have the balls to slush her. And after the beating he got for his trouble, he'll most likely be the last one to have the balls to slushy her as well.

She kicks the door to the girls bathroom in, and goes straight for the sinks. As she turns on the sink and tries to wash the food colored ice from her hair, she hears the bathroom door open. She shouts without taking her head out of the sink.

"Get out!"

She hears no answer, and startles when hands touch her hair.

Her head shoots up, and she pulls her arm back, ready to swing at the cunt who thinks they can touch her.

Her fist stalls when she sees it's a frightened Rachel Berry.

Santana rolls her eyes and turns back to the sink.

"What did I say about touching, mini-me?"

Rachel clears the lump of terror from her throat and responds,

"I was trying to help you. I have a lot of experience with cleaning slushy from my hair."

Santana's hands still.

_The fuck? Why am I feeling guilty for slushying the hobbit? If anyone has earned it, it's her for being an obnoxious dork._

"Yeah, okay."

Rachel smiles lightly.

"Well first off you need to spin around, lean your head into the sink backwards, like you're at the hair salon."

Once Santana has done as instructed, Rachel goes to work washing the slush from the latina's curly hair.

"Why are you helping me?"

Rachel shrugs.

"Despite your participation in the harassment and violence against myself, I've always seen the potential for a good person in you somewhere. The way you protect Brittany? A truly cruel person couldn't do that."

Santana purses her lips, appearing more than a little troubled.

"She's my best friend. And you know the kind of things these ballbags would say about her if I didn't protect her. Even now that my uniform's gone, they wouldn't dare do or say anything to her. Cause they know I'll beat the shit out of anyone who does."

Rachel hums, concentrating on untangling a few knots.

"And that's admirable. Well, perhaps the violence isn't, but the principle is."

A beat of silence passes between them as Santana debates whether or not to engage in the conversation she knows Rachel has been waiting for.

"Quinn still hasn't called me back."

Rachel nods, she didn't expect Quinn would have.

"If it makes you feel any better, she hasn't contacted Finn either."

Santana raises a brow, doubtful.

"And how exactly would you know that? Stalking the missing link again?"

Rachel scoffs.

"I was never stalking him, Santana. And I've told you already I have no love for Finn. Romantically or otherwise. I simply overheard him complaining about it to Puck in Glee."

"You sure overhear a lot, Berry. What percentage of your day is spent eavesdropping exactly?"

Rachel shrugs and says matter-of-factly,

"When you don't have friends to talk to, you can't help but overhear a lot."

There it is again. That punch of guilt in Santana's stomach.

"What about the other glee dorks? They aren't your friends?"

Rachel laughs without humor.

"I think I'm mostly an annoyance to them. We only interact in glee, and it's not exactly cordial conversation. Most of them are jealous of the fact that I'm more talented then they are, so they put me down to feel better about themselves."

They share yet another beat of silence. This one is anything but comfortable.

"I'm sorry."

Rachel's hands freeze in the latina's hair.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said I'm sorry. About the way I've treated you. And the way we encourage everyone else to treat you the same way. You don't deserve that."

Rachel is frozen, completely stunned.

"Oh…. Thank you, Santana. That means a great deal to me. And of course, I forgive you."

Santana looks up at her, unable to process her thought process.

"How can you say that? One apology and we're good? I'd tell me to fuck off and die."

"I've had to learn very early on to learn to be the bigger person. And as many cruel things you've done to me, that one apology says a lot."

Santana looks away from Rachel, so she can't see just how deeply she hates herself at this moment.

"You're a better person than I am."

"Perhaps. But perhaps not. I believe that buried under all that hurt and anger, there's a truly wonderful person. You just have to deal with that hurt and that anger, and maybe you'll discover that person."

Santana thinks on that for a few moments, looking miserable. Then Rachel turns the knob back off, the faucet cutting off.

"There you are! The rest should be much easier. Do you have another se-"

"Set of clothes? Yeah. I anticipated this. Actually, I thought it would have come earlier than now."

Rachel grins her sparkling, face-splitting broadway grin, and gives Santana a towel that the latina is only now noticing that she brought with her.

"Thank you, Rachel."

"Before I leave… I've been wanting to ask you -"

"I'm sorry, but my heart belongs to another."

Rachel laughs, Santana grinning along with her.

"Very funny, Santana. But I'm being serious here."

Santana nods in conceit.

"Sorry. Go ahead."

"Will you join glee? We need more members if we're going to be eligible to compete at regionals, and I've heard you sing before, you have quite a lovely voice."

Santana crosses her arms.

"And exactly how have you heard me sing?"

Rachel blushes and stutters,

"I- I just, you know, and the- I was-

Santana hums sarcastically.

"Let me guess; you overheard me."

Rachel smiles with embarrassment coloring her features. Rather than opening her mouth and embarrassing herself, Rachel settles for a nod.

"Yeah, thought so."

Santana ponders for a moment on the glee question. It could be risky. But at this point, she doesn't have many friends, she doesn't have the cheerios, and she does genuinely enjoy singing. And being in a club could fill the void that the cheerios left behind. Lastly, but most importantly, maybe glee is just the sort of thing that could help get her mind off of Quinn.

Santana nods.

"Yeah, okay. I'll join your dork squad."

Rachel's jaw drops in surprise and elation, Santana finding her reaction funny as hell.

"Really?! Santana, that's wonderful! You won't regret this, I promise! C-"

"Cool off, DeVito, I already said I'm in."

Rachel does a little dance involving much stamping of her feel, solidifying the picture in Santana's head of Rachel being a pony in human form.

Rachel, in her excitement, jumps at the latina, wrapping her in a tight hug. Santana growls, but with close to no malice -

"The rules still apply, Billy Bob Big-nose."

Rachel backs away immediately, bashful guilt coloring her face.

"Sorry! I just got excited."

Santana nods in understanding.

"I'll give you a break this time."

Rachel nods, still beaming.

Santana nods toward the door.

"Now get out of here, would you? I need to change."

Rachel nods again and turns to walk out the door. Santana moves to pull her extra clothes out of her backpack when Rachel pops her head back in the door-

"And I will see you in Glee right after school, yes?"

"Get lost, Frodo!"

Rachel yelps and leaves. After a moment, Santana laughs under her breath and begins to change.

* * *

**Thursday, September 11th 2019**

Quinn sighs in irritation as she tries to ignore Granny Fabray's nagging about how she needs to get in shape if she's ever going to find a man.

Russel and Judy try to ignore Granny Fabray's noise as they work on finishing up dessert.

When Quinn called her great-grandmother, suggesting that she should ask her father to come visit, she really didn't think through just how miserable a week with the old bat would be. Granny Fabray is somehow even more hateful than Russel, which Quinn always thought to be impossible.

This week has been an absolute nightmare. Quinn has felt absolutely horrible for the last few days. She's constantly throwing up, her head and boobs hurt, she's constantly pissed off, and most worryingly, her vagina seems to be oozing pus, or something. Then add on top of that, Granny Fabray never shuts the hell up.

"-and another thing, I don't know why your father lets you run around in those cheerleading outfits. They're so revealing! The only kind of man you're gonna attract showing all that skin is a trashy pervert. Back in my day-"

That's it. Can't take anymore.

Quinn jumps up from the dinner table and strides toward the door to the hallway, calling back to Granny Fabray.

"Sorry, Granny, gotta pee!"

The shriveled up prune woman says, "Such unladylike behavior."

As Quinn makes her grand escape into the hallway, she sighs and walks toward the guest room she's staying in. She freezes when she feels it coming.

_Shit. Not again._

Quinn sprints for the bathroom, shoving the door open with such force that it bounces back off of the wall and slams shut again. She slides onto her knees and retches into the toilet, her dinner lost to the depths of the sewer system.

Quinn sighs and lifts her head out of the bowl, and looks around the room with disgust. Every inch of it is bright pink. The cabinets, the shower, the tile, carpet - Who the hell has carpet in a bathroom anyway? - even the toilet itself is pink.

Quinn says to herself, "If I wasn't already puking my guts out, I just might at the interior decorating."

_Shit._

She ducks her head again, the hurling seems to have no end.

Out in the hallway, Judy strides swiftly to the bathroom, having held her bladder throughout dinner so as not to appear rude in front of Granny Fabray.

She opens the bathroom to find her daughter emptying her stomach into the commode.

"Quinnie, are you sick?"

Quinn rolls her eyes , still hanging her head in the toilet bowl.

"Yeah, ma. I think so."

Judy moves to kneel beside Quinn, rubbing her back lovingly as she lifts her head again.

"I'm sorry, baby. Do you want me to pick up some emotral for you?"

Quinn shakes her head.

"No, ma, I don't think it's a stomach bug. I keep having these headaches, and I just feel tired all the time. And plus…"

Judy leans in.

"Plus what, Quinnie?"

Quinn screws up her face, clearly not wanting to be saying this to her mother.

"I've been having this… vaginal discharge."

Concern radiates through Judy's face as Quinn throw up yet again, her mother holding her hair back for her. As Quinn gags and spits the residual stomach acid lingering in her throat, Judy freezes.

_No. It can't be that. Please don't be that._

Judy straightens and gives the famous Fabray grin; pleasant, but artificial. A mask one adorns when they want to hide their true feelings from the world.

As Quinn pulls back once more, and leans back to cuddle into her mother,

Judy speaks with false cheer.

"Quinn, sweetie, I think we should go to the doctor."

"Yeah, I think you might be right. I feel too awful to argue even if I wanted to."

"Great! Get your purse, I'll go tell your father."

Quinn moves away from her mother so she can look at her confounded.

"Wait, right now? It's like 6:30, ma. Isn't that a little late?"

"Nonsense! We want you feeling better ASAP after all."

"Well… okay, I guess."

"Excellent! Meet me in the car!"

* * *

"Excuse me, could you repeat that?"

Quinn sits on the examination table, her mother sitting in a chair next to her, gripping her hand tightly as tears fill her eyes. The doctor repeats himself nonchalantly.

"You're pregnant, miss Fabray. Congratulations."

She immediately snaps into her comfort zone; the offense.

"Congratulations?! I'm sixteen, you jackass! I can't be fucking pregnant, I have to go to Yale, and I have to… I have to…"

Her comfort zone can't shield her for long. As quickly as her walls went up, they're cracked and broken at an equal pace. Useless to stop the tsunami of emotions crashing into her. Quinn's harsh words are cut off by a sob erupting from the depths of her chest.

Judy grips her hand tighter as both women break down.

"I'm so sorry, m-mommy. I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to."

Judy doesn't respond, overtaken by her body's uncontrollable need to cleanse the despair through tears.

The doctor stands there awkwardly with his chart, eyes flickering back and forth between the weeping women.

"Umm… If you want, I could give you the address to the nearest Women's Clinic. They do in-house abortions."

Quinn is just about to respond with furious protest, her mother interjects with the speed of a bullet.

"Yes!"

Quinn balks at her mother.

"Ma!"

Judy looks shameful, but driven all the same.

"I'm sorry, Quinnie, but you can't have a baby! You're sixteen years old, you have no idea the kind of hell it will put you through to try to go to school and still provide for a child. You're still a child yourself, for god's sake!"

"But ma, I can't do that to a baby. Not to my baby."

Judy brings her other hand up to entrap Quinn's in a two sided grip, her eyes full of desperation.

"Quinn, think about how your father will react! I've already lost Frannie, I can't lose my baby girl too!"

Quinn bites her lip in contemplation, yet fear plaguing her features as well. When her eyes glide back to her mother, they just look tired. Resigned.

Judy turns back to the doctor.

"We'll take that address, please."

The doctor takes a pad of sticky notes, saying as he writes on one, "You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning. They're open during regular business hours."

* * *

**Friday, September 12th 2019**

Quinn sits in the waiting room of the clinic alone, nearly breaking the skin of her bottom lip between her teeth. She's never been so nervous in her life. She's in so much mental agony, and all she wants is to feel normal again. Before she had the complication of a child to worry about. A child she made with Santana.

But it's hard to feel normal when your body has betrayed you. She's so conflicted. One part of her mind screams at her that it's a betrayal, another part screams just as loudly that it's a blessing

_God, please. Please. Give me a sign. Is this right? What do I do? Please, God. Help me._

Her thoughts are cut off by a nurse just entering the room, clipboard in hand.

"Fabray?"

Quinn looks up, nearly getting sick once again, but pushes it down. She stands to her feet shakily, following the nurse out of the room. Closer to destroying a living embodiment of the love she shares with Santana.

How is she going to make it through this? How can she ever face Santana again? But then again, Santana doesn't want to see her again. They're over. The love this child were to represent is dead. Because she killed it with her fear. Her self hatred. What did Santana quote that night they made love in the church? All sins are created equal? This doesn't feel equal. Her love for Santana didn't feel like this. This feels wrong.

_I'll be alright. I have to be._


	5. You Love Me (Like a Hurricane)

**Friday, September 12th 2019**

Santana is surprised at how much she actually enjoys Glee club. Sure, a lot of the members are annoying as hell, and Mr. Schue is incompetent, and Finn has a punchable face and personality, and he smells bad, and he's too tall, and… well, is there anything to like about that girlfriend thieving bitch? But despite that, Santana honestly is having fun. She's always loved to sing, and it's nice to be able to do so and have people listen. 

Plus, she's always kinda liked Puckerman, despite him being a terrible person. 

Speaking of -

"Okay, marry/fuck/kill Coach Sylvester, Miss Pillsbury, Coach Tanaka."

Santana's nose scrunches up in disgust.

"Jesus, that's a nightmare. Marry Tanaka. He's a pushover, so I could have him sleep on the floor like a dog if I wanted. That kind of power over another human being turns me on."

Puck laughs as Santana continues,

"Kill Pillsbury. Guaranteed a freak like her would have you wear a fucking Hazmat suit when you bang her."

"Wait, so you'd-"

"Fuck Sylvester, yes. I'm not happy about it, but she's a fucking psychopath, so hopefully that'll carry over into the bedroom."

Puck nods, impressed at her logic.

"Didn't think about it like that. You're right though. I was gonna bang Pillsbury, cause she's actually kinda hot, but I don't even like wearing condoms, let alone whatever's in her drawers."

Santana shudders at the thought as the two continue ignoring Artie's performance.

"You really should wear condoms, though. You don't want to do something like knock up some poor girl."

"Dude, don't even say that! You'll jinx me or something!"

Santana rolls her eyes, Puck then saying,

"Okay, another one. Brittany, Quinn, and the Puckasaurus."

He grins slyly at her.

Santana doesn't hesitate. "Fuck Britt Britt, kill you, marry Quinn."

"Wait, really? I thought you were gonna marry Brittany for sure."

Santana's eyes soften as she gazes into space.

"Brittany is my best friend and she's a demon in the sack, but Quinn is…. Quinn's different."

Puck nods and stares with those same soft eyes. Santana catches this, and narrows her eyes.

"Oh hell no, Puckerman. Don't even think about it!"

"What? What'd I do?"

He asks defensively.

Santana points a finger at him with a glare.

"I saw that look. That whole  _ 'I'm so in love, be still my heart' _ look? You and Quinn? Never gonna happen, so shut that shit down right now!"

"But why?"

Santana counts off her fingers.

"First off, she's dating your best friend. Secondly, she's way too good for your punk ass. Thirdly, I said no!"

Puck glanced down to his boots mournfully.

"You think I don't know that? Of course she's too good for me. But I can't just stop being in l-"

Santana leans in toward him to hiss in his face. Looking truly angry.

"Don't you give me that shit! You don't know Quinn. Not the real Quinn. You know pretty Quinn Fabray, head cheerio, HBIC. Mean popular girl who would cut throats to get ahead. You don't know who she is when she's not here, surrounded by these fucking baboons. Who she used to be, and secretly still is. You don't know anything about who Quinn Fabray really is. Ergo, you can't love her."

Puck displays such a mix of emotions upon his face that not even he knows how he's really feeling.

"But you do?"

Santana leans back into her chair and relaxes.

"Yeah, I do. I might be the only person that actually does. We've been best friends since we could walk. We shared everything. I was there for her when she was Lu-"

Santana cuts herself off, realizing what she almost did just now. If there's the slightest chance that any of these assholes remembers Lucy, they'd never let Quinn live it down if they found out they were one and the same. 

The way they all would most assuredly react to the knowledge pisses Santana off to no end. She loved Lucy then and she loves her now. Lucy's not gone. Just swallowed whole by the force that is Quinn. 

_ Fuck these people. _

Puck stares into Santana's distant face, trying to uncover her secrets with a gaze.

"If she's not really the HBIC, what is she?"

Santana smiles softly, while physically beside him, Puck knows Santana is truly miles away.

"She's perfect."

___________________________________

**Friday, September 12th 2019**

**5:37 pm**

The stirrups holding her legs up are cold and uncomfortable. After the nurse helped her get set up for the procedure, she left her alone. Now she's just waiting for the doctor. Every second is torturous. Even were she dead, the voices battling within her would rage on, long after her bones had rotted away.

One side telling her not to do this. The other insisting she must do it.

One telling her to not feel guilty for looking out for herself. The other telling her she's a sinner.

One reminding her that Santana-

"Santana."

Quinn bites her lip as she considers something before she reaches down to the chair next to the table she's propped up on, where she's left her purse. She pulls her phone out then tosses her purse back down.

63 missed calls. Each from Santana.

She unlocks her phone, and opens Santana's entry in her contacts. The picture is one of them both in their cheerios uniforms, Quinn kissing Santana on the cheek as she smiles widely at the camera. 

Quinn smiles sadly.

That was the day they made the team.

Her thumb hovers over the call button. 

_ She'll never know. Never know that she's a mother. Or at least might have been a mother. In another world. _

_ God, just give me a sign! _

Suddenly the phone rings, Santana's name and face taking over the screen as the caller id functions.

_ Should I? _

Her thumb swipes across the screen.

…

_ "Quinn? Thank god! I've been trying to get ahold of you all week!" _

Tears fill Quinn's eyes, her body quivering as she tries to keep herself from breaking down.

_ "Quinn? Baby, are you there?" _

Quinn's mouth opens, but closes again.

_ "Quinn, please talk to me. Quinn, baby, listen, I am so sorry. I don't want you out of my life, please, I'm so sorry. Please talk to me…. When are you coming home?" _

Quinn slaps her hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs.

_ "I understand if you don't want to talk to me, but I - I just… I love you, Lucy Q." _

That's when she breaks.

____________________________________

Santana sits on her bed, staring at the screen of her phone miserably. Then she hears something. It's Quinn. She's crying. The sounds of her sobbing slows until she's able to say, voice thick,

_ "Santana?" _

Santana grins, relief glowing from the girl.

"Quinn, talk to me, baby. Are you alright? What's going on?"

_ "I- I have to tell you, I- I have t-" _

A door opens on the other side of the line, a strange man's voice ringing through the phone speakers.

_ "Alright, Miss Fabray, are you ready to begin the procedure?" _

Santana stills, ice shooting up from her feet to her heart.

"Procedure? What is he talking about?! Quinn?! Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

The line goes dead.

Santana throws her phone across the room as she screams.

"God fucking damn it!"

She collapses face first into her bed, screaming the fire burning within her chest out safely against her comforter. She punches the mattress over and over again. She stills as she loses her strength. Screams turn into whimpers, and whimpers into wails of despair. And after pouring out the intensity of her emotions, Santana falls asleep.

______________________________________

**Saturday, September 13th 2019**

**12:35 am**

Santana begins to stir at an irritating sound coming from the floor. As she's drug back into the world of the living, she realizes it's her phone ringing, still sitting atop the carpet across the room.

Santana jumps up frantically, all but diving across the room to get her phone. As her hand makes contact, the phone stops ringing.

She raises it to her eyeline.

The screen has a couple of new cracks, but it's not as bad as she'd expected. But she couldn't care less about the phone right now. Right now all that matters to her are the words upon the screen.

_ Missed Call: Quinn _

Just as she moves to call back, Quinn texts her.

_ Meet me at the church. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: 
> 
> Hey guys, sorry about the short chapter, but I felt this was the best stopping place for this one. I see this as a bridge between chapters 4 & 5\. The setup before the real drama begins.
> 
> -Kameron


	6. Give You All the Love (I Never Gave Before)

Santana walks into the church, still wearing her clothes from the previous day, covered by a thick coat. It's been a cold night.

Quinn kneels at the altar, hands clasped in front of her as she prays. The darkened chamber lit softly near the altar by dozens of battery-powered tealights. Giving the room the orange glow of artificial candlelight. The only difference in the scene that the girls found themselves in only weeks before, is that the both of them are dry as a bone.

Santana's face lights up in a warm smile as she approaches.

"Well, this does look familiar."

There's no snark in her voice. The massive weight that's been crushing her chest for the last week has finally lifted, leaving Santana feeling lighter than air.

Quinn's eyes fly open, and she jumps up immediately, running into Santana's arms.

They stand there, wrapped in one another for a long while, saying nothing. Just enjoying the warmth of their bodies pressed together, and inhaling the scent of the other. They both feel like they've just come home after a long absence.

Santana strokes Quinn's hair, but then pulls back to look up into her eyes.

"What the hell happened, Quinn? Why was that guy talking about you having an operation? Are you alright? Are you sick?"

Quinn bites her lip, a cocktail of guilt and trepidation flowing through her veins.

"No, I'm not sick."

Santana shakes her head in confusion.

"Then what is it?"

Quinn turns away, as to not meet her eyes. Santana gently guides her face back toward her, gazing into one another's eyes.

"What is it?"

Quinn whimpers softly, then pulls Santana in for a loving kiss. She sighs once they pull away.

"I just needed to do that. one more time before…"

"Before what?"

Quinn pulls away and begins to shuffle back toward the altar. She stares up at the wooden face of Jesus looking down upon her. Judging her.

She doesn't look away as she confesses,

"I'm pregnant."

Santana stands, frozen. The words strike her as if a bolt of lightning. Leaving her without the ability to speak, think, she can hardly even breathe."

"What?"

She can tell Quinn is crying though she cannot see her face.

"I'm pregnant."

Santana lets out a gasp of air, stumbling to sit on one of the pews. Quinn finally turns to look at her, the blonde's eyes bloodshot, her cheeks wet. She steps, with hesitation in her movements, toward Santana. She sits next to her, leg bouncing up and down nervously.

Santana still staring into space, seemingly unaware of… well, anything.

"S?"

Finally she snaps back to reality, head turning to Quinn. She stutters out, 

"A-and it's mine?"

Quinn smacks her on the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Of course it's yours, you jackass! You're the only person I've ever slept with and you know that."

"I'm sorry! But, I mean, we didn't really talk for an entire year! For all I know you got it on with Finn once I left."

"Well I didn't!"

Quinn hisses into her face.

The two look away from each other, tension growing between them.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. That was a dumb question to ask."

Quinn huffs.

"It was insulting is what it was."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just… I was just surprised is all."

"Well how do you think I feel?"

Santana sighs.

"I know. I'm sorry."

She turns to Quinn with a soft but wary look.

"And you're sure?"

Quinn nods.

"Yeah. Went to the doctor first thing. I thought I was just sick. But…"

"Yeah."

"My mom was with me."

Santana feels a knot of worry tie itself into her throat.

"Oh shit. I bet she freaked. Oh Christ, she didn't tell Russel, did she?"

Quinn shakes her head.

"No. At least not yet. She wanted me to get an abortion."

Santana's body stiffens like a plank, surprising herself at the primal, gut reaction of wanting to rip out Judy's throat for even suggesting such a thing.

"Wait. On the phone… the operation."

She turns to Quinn, heartbreak in her watery eyes.

"Did you-"

"No! Never. I went to the clinic, but I couldn't go through with it. I just… I couldn't kill something we made. A thing that we made together with love. This image just popped into my head of you holding our child, and us being a family, and I just- I co-couldn't destroy that. I want that with you Santana, all of it."

As the tears come again from both girls, Santana pulls their lips together. She tries to show Quinn everything she feels at this very moment. The joy, the fear, the excitement, the anxiety, the worry, and the love. Always love.

After they pull back from their kiss, they wrap one another up in a firm, loving embrace. Santana whispers against Quinn's shoulder,

"I want that with you too, Lucy Q."

Santana pulls back, smiling nervously at her lover.

"So… we're really doing this?"

Quinn grins back at her and nods.

"We are."

Santana's excitement dims when she remembers -

"Q… what about your parents?"

And now it's Quinn's turn to stiffen.

"Well, we have to tell them, obviously. If they don't find out now, they will when I start blowing up like a balloon."

Santana smiles sadly.

"Do you want me to be there with you?"

Quinn thinks. If Santana is in the room when she tells her father that not only is she gay, but she was knocked up by a brown woman with a penis, said well-equipped woman being there would probably only escalate things.

"No. I need to do this myself."

Santana doesn't like that at all.

"Okay. But I will be right outside waiting for you. If that bastard tries anything, I'll kill him."

Quinn lays on her side, her head propped up in Santana's lap. 

"We can figure it out tomorrow. I just really want to sleep. Today has been so exhausting. Please tell me you brought your car."

Santana smirks as she begins to play with Quinn's long, blonde locks.

"I did. Stay at mine?"

Quinn nods, hugging her arms around Santana's abdomen, burying her face into her clothed belly.

"I mmmt mmanna mmakeduoramrs."

Santana laughs, curling silky blonde around her dark fingers.

"You know I don't speak that, mushmouth."

Quinn turns her head up to glare at San.

"I  _ said _ that I just want to wake up in your arms. But now I'm rethinking that."

Santana pushes Quinn's face back into her stomach with a chuckle.

"Yeah, sure you are, Fabgay."

________________________________

**Saturday, September 13th 2019**

_ Quinn watches from the doorway as Santana whispers excitedly to the girl, laying in her Buzz Lightyear-themed bedspread. The girl giggles and hugs Santana around the head, Santana laughing along, then snorting exagerattedly at the girl, attacking her with kisses all over her face. The girl squeals and tries to wriggle away from San.  _

_ Quinn smiles fondly, but schools her face into a stern expression before clearing her throat. Santana and the girl both freeze, slowly turning their heads to fave Quinn. Both of them sporting faux-guilt in their wide eyes. Quinn raises a challenging brow. _

_ "What have I told you about getting her excitable before bed?" _

_ Santana turns back to the girl, stage whispering conspiratorially with her. _

_ "I told you to keep an eye out, mija!" _

_ The girl crosses her arms and harumphs with sass. _

_ "You distracteded me!" _

_ Santana rolls her eyes. _

_ "All these excuses. You need to learn to multi-task, kid." _

_ The girl arches a brow, the resemblance to Quinn's famous powermove being uncanny. _

_ "You need to learn to teach me what that word means, old lady!" _

_ Santana gasps in outrage and shoves away from the girl.  _

_ "Well good luck getting me to teach you anything with a 'tude like that, you little punk." _

_ The girl turns to Quinn and points her finger accusingly at Santana. _

_ "Mama, mami called me a punk!" _

_ Quinn smirks at her daughter. _

_ "Did she now?" _

_ "Yep! She did!" _

_ The girl sticks her tongue out at Santana. _

_ Quinn chuckles and starts to walk over to the other side of the girl's bed. _

_ "Well, S? What do you have to say for yourself?" _

_ San crosses her arms and huffs. Like mother, like daughter. _

_ "Well maybe I wouldn't have if she wouldn't act like a punk." _

_ The girl gasps. _

_ "She did it again, mama!" _

_ Quinn sits on the edge of the bed, smiling at the little girl. _

_ "Well what do we do about it, baby girl?" _

_ The girl glares at Santana darkly. _

_ "You should give her a spanking!" _

_ Santana glares at the girl. _

_ "Well luckily for me, little girls don't get to pick the punishments around here." _

_ The girl sticks her tongue out again, Santana responding in kind. _

_ Quinn eyes Santana up and down, smirking at the childish woman. _

_ "You know, I think she has a point, San." _

_ The latina turns to gape at Quinn. _

_ "The fu-" _

_ Quinn cuts her off by reaching to glide her fingertips up and down the other woman's thigh, arching her brow, but with a very different meaning than before. _

_ "I definitely think a spanking is in order, mami." _

_ Santana's eyes darken as her mind shifts over to post-bedtime activities. She nods. _

_ "You know what? You're totally right, Q. How about I leave you in here so you can get your prayer on with the squirt, then you can come back to our room and we can get on with the spanking!" _

_ Quinn nods with lidded eyes. _

_ "Sounds like a plan. Now get out of here. Satan's not allowed to stay for prayer." _

_ "Yeah, Satan's not allowed, old lady!" _

_ Santana turns back to her daughter with a growl, and lunges for the shrieking girl, kissing her chubby cheeks over and over again.  _

_ After getting her fill of sugars, she pulls back and tousels the girl's hair. _

_ "Goodnight, mija." _

_ The girl grins a gap-toothed grin up at Santana. _

_ "Goodnight, mami." _

_ Santana pouts down at the girl. _

_ "Does you luvs?" _

_ The girl sighs dramatically. _

_ "Yeah, I guess." _

_ It's now Santana's turn to arch a brow. _

_ "You guess what?" _

_ "I guess I luvs." _

_ The brow stays up  _

_ "Okay, okay, I  _ know  _ I luvs." _

_ "You luvs?" _

_ "I luvs." _

_ Santana smiles, satisfied. _

_ "I luvs too." _

_ She leans down and points at her now-puckered lips. _

_ The girl leans up and smooches Santana with an audible "mwah!" _

_ Santana smiles down with soft eyes before turning to Quinn, once again pointing at her lips. _

_ Quinn rolls her eyes, but gives Santana a thorough kiss. _

_ After pulling away, Quinn good-naturedly shoves Santana towards the door. She takes her daughter's hands in her own, each bowing their heads. Shs whipsers "Go ahead, baby." _

_ Santana smiles as she leaves the room, her daughter's words following her out the room - _

_ "Hi, God! Thank you for my mama and my mami. I love them a lot. And thank you for my toys, too. I love them a whoooooole lot!" _

_ ______________________________________ _

_ Quinn sighs as she walks back toward her bedroom, the girl finally having passed out not long ago. She feels exhausted, but also a spark of excitement for what she knows is waiting for her in the bedroom she shares with Santana. _

_ Quinn smiles, getting a head start at unbuttoning her shirt as she enters the room. Her hands drop though, when she walks through the threshold to find the bedroom empty. Her brow furrows in confusion. _

_ "Santana? Where are you, S-" _

_ The latina comes seemingly out of nowhere, shoving Quinn against the wall and forcing her tongue into the blonde's mouth. Quinn moans into the kiss and thrusts her hips into Santana's.  _

_ Santana pulls back from Quinn and roughly turns her around, pressing her face first against the wall as she dips to her knees, yanking Quinn's jeans down as she goes, biting into a plump ass cheek. _

_ Santana pulls back and spanks Quinn hard, pulling a hot groan from her throat. _

_ Santana stands suddendly, Santana manhandling Quinn as she wheels her around and all but tosses her onto their bed. _

_ "Bend over, baby girl." _

_ "Yes, mami." _

_____________________________________

Quinn doesn't drift back into conciousness, but plummets into in, an orgasm ripping through her body, involuntary scream of pleasure erupting from her as she tries to squirm, mostly instinctually, but is held in place by strong hands holding her body in place, subtly muscular arms wrapped around her thighs and palms pressing down on her toned abs.

Santana doesn't stop lapping at Quinn's cunt until she rides through her first orgasm and driven into another. Quinn's body finally relaxes after Santana guides her down from number two, her grip on the taller girl relaxing, her hands now just rubbing up and down on the muscularture of her stomach. 

Santana kisses Quinn's clit one more time before pulling back and grinning smugly up at her lover.

"Morning, cap."

Quinn laughs breathily and replies, finally looking down at Santana's cum-smeared face.

"Hell of a wake up call."

Santana lifts up to balance her knees onto the mattress.

"Yeah, you were moaning and grinding up on me in your sleep, so I thought I'd make your dreams come true. Spelled phonetically, obviously."

Quinn grins back at her, nodding down at the obvious erection tenting up Santana's baggy sleep shirt.

"Well don't let me stop you, mami."

Santana freezes, her cock twitching up at the name.

"What did you call me?"

Quinn smirks mischievously.

"Oh, did she like that? Mami?"

Santana dives back down and latches onto Quinn's neck, not restraining herself in any way from sucking and biting the girl below her, marking her again and again as Quinn gasps and lifts her hips so her wet center can grind up onto Santana's clothed cock. 

"Fuck, baby. Harder."

Santana complies, sucking hard one last time before pulling back to stare darkly into Quinn's eyes.

"You're not going to cover that up, understand? Not all day. Not tomorrow, and not the when we go back to school. If it fades, I'll do it again. I want them to know. Do you understand?"

Quinn laughs throatily as she grinds harder.

"You're so fucking possessive."

"Oh, and like you're not?"

Quinn just smirks.

"Well, if it's not that big a deal to you, maybe I'll just call Brittany up and-"

Quinn sneers, pushing Santana up off her. For a moment Santana thinks she actually fucked up, but then Quinn rolls over and presses her ass back onto her. Quinn reaches back and pulls San's cock out from under her shirt, pressing the tip against her wet pussy.

"Fuck."

Quinn looks back at Santana over her shoulder, hair falling over one side of her face as her uncovered eye stares with a mixture of lust and anger right through Santana. 

"You're never going to touch Brittany again, are you?"

Santana tries to thrust forward into Quinn, but the blonde leans away, only allowing the tip to touch her wetness.

"Are you?"

Santana shakes her head desparately.

"No, baby. Only you."

Quinn grins like a feral cat.

"Mine."

"Just yours."

Quinn then slowly pushes back onto Santana's cock, eyes fluttering closed as she moans deeply at the feeling of being stretched so thoroughly by Santana's thick rod.

"Fuck! You're so big, mami."

Santana involuntarily humps forward at the name, Quinn gasping at the sensation of the slow pace jumping forward so quickly.

"Fuck me, S."

Those were clearly the words Santana's body had been waiting for, as she immediately ruts into Quinn at a furious pace, the two trading noises of carnal bliss, wet skin slapping together underlining the duet of passion like the beat of a drum.

Quinn braces her hands against the headboadd as Santana grips onto her firm ass, plowing ahead without restraint.

"Ohh, oh fuck, Quinn."

"Yes, right there! Right there, San! Oh, god! Fuck!"

Quinn pushes her ass back as Santana thrusts her hips forward, their bodies smacking together harder and faster than before. The bed rocks back and forth, headboard thumping ahainst the wall as their pace continues to rise. 

"Spank me, mami."

"Oh, fuck."

Santana smacks Quinn's left cheek hard, a scream pouring from between the girl's lips.

"Harder!"

Santana doesn't hesitate, smacking the ivory orb harder, Quinn yelling for more. Santana keeps thrusting, every few pumps baring down on Quinn's ass with a strike from an open palm, the pale cheeks reddening beautifully.

"Fuck, your ass looks so good like this, Q."

She just groans at this and pushes back even harder. Her voice comes out in a shuddering whine.

"I'm gonna cum, baby."

Santana nods and bends forward, one hand balancing herself over Quinn, the other looping around and diving beneath Quinn's shirt so she can massage one of the pale girl's breasts. She thrusts forward faster, her nipples grazing Quinn's back through the fabric of their shirts. The stimulation to the sensitive buds brings her closer and closer along with Quinn.

Santana pants against Quinn's ear, breathing out, "Cum for me baby. Cum on my dick."

That, and the feeling of her earlobe being sucked into Santana's mouth, is what drives Quinn over for the third time that morning.

"Ooooooohh fuuuuuckk!"

Quinn's backwards thrusts become unjointed as her arms quiver and give out, the girl falling face-first into her pillow as she wheezes exclamations through her orgasm. Santana adjusts, straightening back up onto her knees and gripping a pale thigh for leverage as she continues to drive herself forward. She moans out at the feeling of Quinn's smoothe walls strangling her cock.

"I'm-"

She cuts herself off as she breaks, pulling out of Quinn to shoot her first two ropes of cum across her reddened ass. Quinn shouts at her - 

"No! Back inside! Cum in me, mami!"

Santana groans, but obliges. Swiftly pushing her cock back into Quinn, bottoming out, so she can shoot her cum deeply into her. The two moan and gasp at the incredible feeling, rutting softly against one another over and over until long after Santana had shot the last drop of her cum into Quinn's abused pussy. She stays inside her love, laying down atop her, hugging the girl from behind. 

The two roll together to their sides, so they can spoon, Santana never allowing her softening cock to escape from Quinn's grasp.

Their breaths even out, the two basking in the afterglow silently. Peacefully. 

Quinn reaches an arm back so she can play with Santana's curly hair. Her eyes close as she savors their closeness. Santana kisses the base of her neck and whispers against her pulse-point.

"I wish every day could be like this."

Quinn feels an odd entanglement of longing and bitterness at the thought, though when her words come through, they read with that same bitterness, but with an underlying sadness.

"Well once dad throws me out, maybe every day can be like this."

She hates herself for having to sniff back her tears, hates that the reality of what's to come has to taint something so pure as this moment - being wrapped up in Santana's arms.

The other girl feels the same hatred of what's to surely be. She tightens her arms around Quinn, trying to show any source of comfort she can offer.

"I'm sorry, baby."

Quinn tries hard, but can't keep the sadness at bay.

"I just wish he could love me enough for this to be alright."

Santana gently turns Quinn's face to look into her eyes.

"This  _ is  _ okay, Q. The only thing wrong with any of this is him. We're gonna be a family, Q. You, me, and our baby. I'm never going to let anybody make me feel bad for this. And I fo shit sho ain't gonna let anybody make you feel bad either. Not about this. Yeah, we're young. But all that means is we gonna be the hottest moms in the PTA meetings."

Quinn laughs thickly. She sniffles again before saying,

"PTA meetings. The idea of you in a PTA meeting is the funniest thing I've ever heard."

Santana smirks and nuzzles Quinn's neck.

"We're going to beat those old bags into submission."

Quinn hums and yawns.

"Mmm."

Santana smacks Quinn on the ass.

"Oh, no. Don't even think about it, Fabray. It's the 13th! We gots gamestop to get to."

Quinn sighs in resignation.

"Of course we do. And which one comes out today?"

"Borderlands 3. And fyi, you definitely playing with me all damn day."

"Well if I must, I must." 

Quinn turns back to kiss Santana deeply, smiling easy as she turns back to her lover.

"Morning, lefty."

"Morning, cap."

______________________________________

**Monday, September 15th 2019**

The two spent the rest of the weekend making love and playing video games. Quinn would sigh and pretend she wishes she were doing anything but, when in reality she enjoys playing games with Santana more than almost anything. 

Not necessarily because of the games themselves, but for just how into it Santana gets. Quinn has always been fond of Santana's secret nerdy double life because of that reason. If she had to listen to anyone else ramble on about Star Wars, she'd shoot herself or whoever dared speak to her in the first place, but as with all things, Santana is different.

The two discussed throughout the two day period over long sessions of farming Graveward together the possibilities of when they should break the news to Russel about the baby. In the end, Quinn decided on waiting until the end of the week. If Quinn was going to lose her family, she wanted to have one last week with them. 

But one thing Santana insisted upon was that Finn's time with the mother of her child was done.

So that Monday, Santana waited eagerly from across the hall for gigantor to show up at Quinn's locker. And she's not disappointed.

The oversized man baby lumbers up to Quinn, who's pulling books from her locker. When Finn reaches her, he greets her. Or so Santana assumes. She can't hear the words exchanged from where she stands.

Finn reaches to take Quinn's books from her, but Quinn pulls them away, as well as turning her head when Finn leans in for a kiss.

He adopts that ridiculous constipated expression, and Quinn coldly speaks her piece before closing her locker and striding away. Finn stands stunned for a moment, before shojting after Quinn,

"What the fuck, Quinn? You can't just dump me!"

The hallway quiets as the nobodies all tune in for the drama.

Quinn stops, rolling her eyes before shouting back over her shoulder.

"You aren't, and never have been in a position to tell me what I can and can't do, Hudson."

Finn's face reddens in embarrassment and anger, stomping toward Quinn with the intent to intimidate.

"Why? We're the most popular kids in school, Quinn. You're just gonna throw that away? You're dumber than I thought."

Santana laughs loudly. Finn turning toward her with narrowed eyes.

"The idea of you calling anyone dumb is hilarious, Simple Jack. You're the dumbest ghoul in this shithole."

Finn snarls.

"Except for Brittany, right Santana?"

The hallway goes tense, everyone already knowing what's coming.

Santana loses it, running at the mammoth, tackling him against the lockers and punching him across the face, busting his lip. Finn growls and pushes Santana away, sending her crashing to the ground. The latina yanks the paddle off of her backpack and lunges. She whops Finn in the sides with it over and over, drawing shouts of pain from him.

Finn then punches Santana across the face, no restraint, jer jaw making a horrible cracking noise against the fist. She collapses to the ground. Santana groans in pain as she pushes herself up, pulling a bloody tooth from between her lips.

Just before Santana can retaliate, a freight train in the form of Noah Puckerman smashes Finn into the wall, fists flying towards his face. Puck grabs Finn by his shirt collar and shouts in his face - 

"You like hitting girls, do ya?"

"Dude, are you fucking nuts? That bitch-"

Puck pulls Finn back and slams him back into the wall. 

"Watch your fucking mouth, bro!"

"Puck."

He stops, and turns to look at Quinn. She nods for him to back off. Puch shoves Finn one more time and relents. Quinn approaches slowly, staaring icily up at Finn.

"You fucked up, Finn. You've insulted me, you've insulted Santana, and you've insulted Brittany of all people, who has never done a goddamn thing to you. You go after the unholy trinity, you will lose. And in case you haven't noticed, you've pissed off three out of three. So now it's open season, Finn. Quarterback or not, you're now public enemy number one. Bring your raincoat. You'll need it."

She pushes past Finn and goes to check on Santana. Her eyes soften once she gets a good look at San. Blood leaking steadily from her mouth and a jaw that's already beginning to swell.

"Are you okay?"

"I've had worse."

Quinn grabs her hand and pulls her close so she can use her free palm to turn Santana's head to get a better look at the wound. Her fingers caress the darker girl's face subconciously.

Finn's eyes narrow.

"Seriously? Is that it? You're dumping me so you can dyke out with Santana?"

Quinn freezes.

A gasp sounds out behind Finn, making him turn to face a furious Rachel Berry.

"Finn Hudson, how dare you use homophobic language of thst sort! Knowing we have gay members of the glee club, as well as the fact that I myself have two gay dads, how could you possibly think talk like that is acceptable? Not to mention common human empathy! I'll have you know-

Santana eyes Quinn nervously as Rachel successfully distracts Finn.

"Come on, Q. I think I needs to see nurse Rachet."

She pulls Quinn along the hallway, neither speaking on the way to the nurse's office.

Once they arrive and the nurse attends to Santana, giving the girl disapproving looks the whole time. This is far from the first time she's come in with injuries obviously from a fight. 

"There, you're as good as I can make you. You're going to have to let the rest heal on its own."

"Thanks, Pomfrey."

The nurse rolls her eyes and waves the two out of her office. Quinn still hasn't said anything, quietly contemplating things. Santana is terrified that this might undo all the progress the two have made over the last few days.

She takes Quinn by the hand and starts pulling her through the hallway. Finally Quinn speaks,

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet."

_____________________________________

The sound of the door opening and slamming shut echos through the empty auditorium as Santana drags Quinn inside. 

The two sit on the edge of the stage, Santana turning to face Quinn. It's always a struggle for her to open herself up emotionally to another person, but sometimes it's a necessity. And for Quinn, she's prepared to do it as often as she has to.

"Finn is an idiot. No one listens to his dumb ass anyways. Please don't freak, cause I mean, seriously,  _ no one  _ is going to actually think you're gay. You're like the le-"

"Santana."

Santana shuts up, looking frustrated as well as worried, dreading the inevitable fallout.

"I think I'm ready to come out."

"Wait, what?"

  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. (Fuel to my fire) You Can't Stop Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N:) So we've finally been shut down and quarantined, so I thought I thought since I've got extra time to write, I could post the chapter early. Hopefully over the next few weeks we'll make some real progress!

"I said I'm ready to come out."

Santana is gobsmacked, opening her mouth again and again, but no sound coming out of her mouth. Finally she's able to force some sound from her throat.

"Really? You, little miss self-loathing denial dyke is ready to walk the halls and hold hands and kiss in public and call yourself my girlfriend and all that shit?"

Quinn smirks.

"Well technically you never asked me to be, but yeah."

Santana shakes her head.

"How did this… I mean, like, this is super sudden. I thought you were terrified of coming out."

Quinn shrugs and leans into Santana, who wraps her arm around Quinn's shoulder. 

"I am terrified. But not long from now it'll be public knowledge that I'm pregnant. I'd rather have both things come out at the same time. I won't be able to deal with the blowback when I'm further along, I'll go crazy."

Santana kisses Quinn's temple.

"You're already crazy, Q."

Quinn smacks Santana as she laughs.

"You suck."

"If I recall correctly, you were the one doing the sucking this morning."

Quinn smacks her again.

Santana turns her head to look Quinn in the face.

"And by the way; you carrying my baby, you hoppin' up on this johnson any chance you get, you tellin' me you love me and shit? Ha! Like I gotta ask. You've been my girlfriend since we were three years old. You just didn't realize it till just now."

Quinn buries her smile in Santana's hair.

"Yeah. I guess I have been."

____________________________________

Santana shrugs her backpack off her shoulders as she takes her seat next to Brittany in Spanish. 

"Hey Brittz."

Brittany leans toward her, not bothering with greetings.

"I heard what happened with Finn."

"Yeah, I had a feeling you'd find out."

"Well duh. Like, even if I didn't already know, I would now. Your face looks like a purple people eater."

"It feels fine."

Brittany eyes her blankly.

"Are you lying to me?" 

Santana sighs, but nods.

"Yeah. It hurts a lot."

Brittany's lip quivers, leaning further in as she pleads to Santana, saying,

"San, you can't get into fights over me. People can say mean things about me if they want. I'd totally rather have that then you get hurt."

Santana screws her face up in frustration.

"Well I wouldn't. No one says a goddamn thing about you in front of me. That's always been how it is. Finn was the one dumb enough to break that rule."

"But Sanny, I don't want you beating people up either."

"Again, this is Finn we're talking about! That jackass had an ass whooping coming his way."

Brittany leans back again and says,

"But not over me."

Santana rolls her eyes.

"He wasn't just talking about you, you know? He was saying shit about Q too. Even if he hadn't said that shit about you, I still wouldda beat his ass down."  
  


Brittany's frowns with concern.

"Finn shouldn't say mean things about Quinn."

Santana nods.

"Goddamn right."

"But why did you defend her? I thought you guys hated each other now."

"Well, we don't anymore."

Brittany grins widely.

"Does this mean I can hang out with both of you again?"

Santana laughs and reaches over to pat Brittany's hand.

"Yeah, B. You can hang out with us."

"Cool. Can we go feed the ducks after school then?"

"You'll have to ask Q about that one. Besides, I've got Glee after school."

Brittany nods, thinky face on.

"Right. Glee club…"

Santana quirks a brow at the way she says it, but dismisses it with a light shake of her head.

____________________________________

After school, Santana watches as Tina does a rare number of her own. Predictably it's fucking depressing as hell, but hey! Baby steps.

Light applause as she finishes and smiles. A knock at the door draws the attention of everyone in the room. 

"Got room for two more?"

Standing at the door are Quinn and Brittany, though with drastically different attitudes. Brittany looks genuinely happy to be there, whereas Quinn looks irritated.

Mr. Schue smiles big, clapping his hands together as he approaches.

"Of course! We're always looking for new members! Come in, girls!"

Quinn drags her feet to the center of the room, Brittany skipping beside her.

Mercedes pipes up straight away.

"Oh hell no, Mr. Schue. You know they only here to sabotage us for coach Sylvester."

"Mercedes, please-"

Quinn cuts Will off, saying, "You know what they say about assuming?"

Brittany nods and says, "It makes hair grow on your palms."

Incredulous looks and hitched eyebrows are traded throughout the room.

Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Look, we're only here because we don't want Santana to catch heat for joining your gang of losers."

"No offense, b-but wh-why do you care? I th-thought you and Santana weren't friends any-anymore." Tina says.

Quinn narrows her eyes at Tina.

"Well you thought wrong. Santana's my lefty. Now and always."

Mercedes hums knowingly, Santana reaching over the aisle to punch her in the shoulder.

"Ow!" 

"Shut the fuck up, Auntie Phil."

Will then remembers he's supposed to be a teacher and scolds Santana. "Santana! You cannot physically abuse your teammates!"

Santana nods. "You're totally right, Mr. Schue. I'll just stick to verbal abuse from now on."

Will sighs, deep resignation flowing out of him. He looks up at the two cheerios.

"Do you girls want to sing something? We always have auditions when we welcome a new member."

Rachel butts in, "Although I don't know if you can call them auditions if everyone who tries out gets in."

Santana smirks.

"Well now that makes sense. I knew Finnfuckawitz couldn't have gotten in based on his talent."

Finn turns to Santana, red faced. 

"Shut up, Santana!"

Will interjects, tired of the sniping.

"Okay, no more! Don't speak to one another for the rest of glee! I'm tired of having to break fights up every ten minutes."

He turns to Quinn and Brittany with a stiff smile.

"Go ahead, girls."

As Mr. Schue moves to give them space, Quinn thinks over the possibilities. She knows as soon as her eyes land on Santana. Quinn smirks and turns to whisper into Brittany's ear. Brittany bounces with excitement, getting in her place for the number. Quinn stands in the center of the free area, radiating an intoxicating dominance.

Brittany kicks the number off with an acapella supporting riff, high pitched open-mouthed hums ringing clear as a bell. When Quinn comes in with the verse, Brittany starts moving. A leggy dance, full of suggestion.

Quinn slowly but confidently struts around the room as Brittany backs her, still dancing throughout the room.

_"Not like I'm counting the days, but it's been 25."_

Santana's cheeks redden immediately redden. This song. This fucking song. This song acted as the soundtrack that night so long ago when they had sex for the first time. Santana had been playing it because she wanted Quinn to hear how hot this new song she found was. 

Needless to say, it was indeed hot.

Quinn bores her eyes into Santana with heat, but also mischief. She doesn't look away as she begins to turn her body, head turned so she can keep the eye contact from over her shoulder.

Quinn rolls her hips sensually, then spins swiftly, giving Santana a quick look at her spanx.

That's when she hits the first chorus.

_".. Don't send me photos, you're makin' it worse, cause you're so hot it's hurtin' my feelings."_

Quinn's smooth voice flows out unburdened as Brittany grabs her by her hips and lowers her into a dip, Quinn letting her head fall back so she can look up at Santana with a falsely innocent look.

_"I get a little lonely…. Get a little more close to me,"_

Quinn grins devilishly and winks at San before Brittany pulls her back up.

Snix growls inside Santana.

_Oh, she's getting it as soon as we get out of here._

_"So hot you're hurtin' my feelings. Can't deal."_

_We'll see about that._

_____________________________________

Quinn's back hits the wall roughly as Santana pushes her through the front door of her house, she grinds her body into Quinn's, lips attaching to her pale neck.

As Quinn moans, Santana growls against her neck, the feeling of her warm breath on her now wet skin sending chills down her body.

"You thought that was funny, huh?"

Quinn bites her lip, but nods.

"Yeah. Extremely funny."

Santana bites Quinn's neck as punishment, causing a pleasured whine to escape her lips.

"I had to hide a boner all through glee because of your ass."

Quinn guides Santana's hands downward so she can grope her in just the right place 

"You mean this ass?"

Santana groans. Quinn sees her window and spins Santana so her back is against the wall, Quinn grabbing the latina's cock through her jeans.

"Let me take care of that, mami. I don't want you walking around… unsatisfied."

Quinn then drops to her knees and gets to work on Santana's belt. Once she has her pants undone, Quinn immediately takes the entirety of Santana's cock into her throat, the warm, wet tunnel feeling so incredible around her.

"Sssshhitttt. Fuck, Q!"

Quinn bobs her head up and down three times before pulling back and looking up at her girlfriend, stroking her cock as she says, 

"That's what I'm trying to get you to do, baby. But first I want you to cum in my mouth. I want to taste you."

"Fffuck."

Quinn dives down to suck one of Santana's balls into her mouth as she jerks up and down her dick. After a moment, she lets the testicle pop out of her mouth, moving over to latch onto the other.

"Jesus, you're so good at this, Q."

Quinn smirks as she lets Santana's balls drop out of her mouth.

"I know."

Santana chuckles, shaking her head.

"Cocky bitch."

Quinn raises an amused brow and strokes Santana more vigorously.

"I think it's pretty well established that you're the cocky one around here."

Santana laughs as Quinn sucks roughly on the tip of her cock.

"Wanky."

Quinn lets a hand dip under to massage Santana's balls as she deepthroats Santana's cock. Santana tangles her hand into Quinn's hair as she pants and moans.

"It's coming, baby."

Quinn takes San as deep as she can, nose mashing against the other girl's abdomen as she sucks and hums the acapella section from 'So Hot it's Hurtin' My Feelings'. The vibration surrounding her cock pushes Santana over, all but screaming as she cums down Quinn's throat.

Then the front door opens.

"Mija? Would you rather have pi- oh my god!"

Maribel Lopez watches in horror as Quinn pulls her head back from Santana's cock, only to have rope after rope shoot onto her face.

The three are still and silent as the grave.

Santana then snaps into action and pulls her pants up, Quinn jumping to her feet and sprinting to the upstairs bathroom. Maribel clears her throat and silently goes to put the groceries up in the kitchen.

Santana slaps her hands onto her face, sighing into her palms.

______________________________________

Quinn and Santana sit on the couch, avoiding looking at either of Santana's parents, or one another for that matter.

Benicio Lopez stands with his arms crossed, looming over the girls. Maribel sits on a fluffy chair across from the couch, also avoiding eye contact.

"So."

Quinn tenses up. 

_What if they never let me come back? Never let me see her again?_

"You two are back together then, I assume?"

Quinn looks up at Benicio, stunned.

"What?"

Maribel finally looks up at Quinn, expectant look on her face. 

"I should certainly hope so! It's one thing if you and little Diabla are in love.But if she's just using you for sex, you would tell us, yes Quinn?"

Santana scoffs.

"What the hell, mom? Why would you assume I would be using her?"

Maribel chastises her daughter.

"Because I know what you get up to, young lady! I've walked in on you and Brittany more times than I could count!"

Santana looks away with embarrassment as Quinn says,

"Wait, so you knew about us? For how long?"

Maribel tilts her head, an expression of pity.

"Oh, sweetie. We always knew. Santana's bedroom isn't soundproofed. And the two of you are quite loud."

Benicio nods with a haunted look in his eyes.

"You have no idea how much I've spent on earplugs over the last year."

Quinn buries her face in a pillow to hide her red face. Santana pulls her close, arm over her shoulder.

"It's alright, baby."

Santana turns to ask her parents,

"If you knew all this time, why didn't you say anything?"

Benicio takes Santana's hand and smiles softly at her.

"We know what kind of man Russel is. The last thing we wanted was for Quinn to feel uncomfortable in the only place she felt safe enough to be herself. And if she found out we knew about the two of you, she wouldn't take that news well."

Quinn avoids their eyes but nods.

"You're right. I would have."

Maribel moves to kneel by the couch, taking Santana's other hand and looking up at her with a warm smile.

"But also because of you, mija. We knew that we could trust you to be responsible. Say what you will about my little Diabla, but she's not stupid."

She doesn't miss how Santana's eyes flicker to Quinn, who bites bites her lip nervously.

Maribel's alarm bells go off, her mind going a million different directions.

"Actually… we have something to tell you."

She looks to Quinn for help, who gulps nearly inperceptibly.

"We…. I… am pregnant. We were under the influence, and didn't even think about condoms, I am so sorry, Mrs. Lopez. Mr. Lopez, I'm so sorry!"

The room goes deadly quiet. No one moves. No one speaks. No one blinks. Suddenly Maribel turns to shout at Benicio.

"See?! I told you we couldn't trust her! You talking about _'oh, she's nearly an adult now! We can trust her to act responsibly, blah blah blah!'_ Puta!"

The two shoot to their feet, shouting back and forth.

"Me? You're the one who didn't want to give her condoms!"

"Because I trusted that she would know to buy her own! I trusted her to not be a goddamn moron! I'm too young to be ab abuela, Beni!"

Benicio rolls his eyes and backs off her.

"Well I thought we could too! She's 17 for god's sake!"

Maribel points a finger dangerously close to his face.

"So? You remember being 17, Ben? I do! And O know I was dumb as as a bag of rocks! A quinceanera does not make anyone any more responsible!"

Santana moves cautiously, awkwardly to try and stand from the couch.

"How about we just get out of your wa-"

Both her parents turn to scream at her to-

"Sit down!"

Santana complies, then sighs. This could be a while.

_____________________________________

After shouting at the girls and each other for a solid forty minutes, the Lopez parents send the girls away. 

"We need to talk more about this in private. Just know that we're not angry with you-"

Maribel cuts in, 

"We're furious."

Benicio sighs.

"We're just surprised. Disappointed."

Maribel nods.

"And pissed."

Santana nearly drags Quinn out the front door. She leans against the outside of the door, exhausted.

"And I'm gonna have to deal with that all night."

Quinn cringes.

"I'm sorry."

Santana shrugs.

"It's fine. They were going to find out sooner or later. And don't worry, they would never tell Russel."

Quinn never thought for a moment that they would. They've never shown her anything but kindness. Acceptance. And she knows they're good people. Too good to do something as terrible as to throw her to the wolves. The wolves in this case being her angry, drunken father.

She just nods, and curls into Santana, the two sharing a long, warm embrace. Santana sighs and kisses Quinn's crown.

"Think you better go back home."

Quinn nods, but dreads it. She feels like a sacrificial lamb in her home, chained up and waiting for the slaughter.

"I guess I should."

Santana pulls back and gives Quinn a soft, light kiss.

"Love you, Q."

"Love you, S."

Santana moves to pull the door open, the sound of her parents shouting becoming far more clear. Santana shoots Quinn an apprehensive smile, the cheerio sending back one with guilt and humor in it.

"Goodnight."

Quinn just nods, saying.

"Night."

Quinn sighs when the door closes behind Santana

_Guess it's time._

She forces her feet to move toward her house. Great. The light in the living room is still on. Maybe if she just creeps as quietly as she can, she can make it upstairs without-

"Sit down."

She stops. Quinn feels dread crawl up her back as she walks into the living room. Her mother is crying on the couch. Her father sits in his recliner, a glass of scotch in his hand. His eyes blaze with the flame of fury and the recklessness of the drink.

Quinn's voice quivers as she hesitantly steps into the room.

"Daddy?"

Russel sets his glass on the coffee table, and stands from his chair, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles have gone white.

"Sit. Down."  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N 2:) Song used is So Hot it's Hurtin' my Feelings by Caroline Polachek. Listen to it. It is indeed hot.


	8. White Shirt, Now Red (My Bloody Nose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N:) Pretty intense violence in this one.
> 
> \- Kameron

**Monday, September 15 2019**

**8:45pm**

The chewing out doesn't end after Quinn leaves. In fact, it goes on for at least another fifteen minutes. By this point, Santana's managed to drown most of it out, but what her mom says next catches her attention.

"I know this is Quinn we're talking about here, but maybe we can talk to her about maybe… aborting it."

Santana's eyes darken, though her fury burns bright.

"Don't you fuckin' say that!"

Maribel sighs, sitting on the couch across from where Santana's seated.

"Mija, I know you don't want to hear it, but you just aren't ready to take care of a child. And have you thought about what this is going to be like for Quinn? If Russel finds out…"

"I won't let him touch her!" Santana says.

Maribel leans back against the cushions, looking exhausted.

"I know, Santana. I know you wouldn't. But this is going to change everything for her. Her family will abandon her. That horrible Sylvester woman will almost certainly kick her off the cheerios. She could very well get a scholarship because of that team, but that won't be a possibility if she's thrown out."

Santana's eyes flicker away, worry burrowing into her flesh like a tick.

"And then there's your future to think about. Can you imagine how difficult it will be to balance school, glee, and being a mother? And that's just high school! It won't get easier moving to college."

Benicio sits on the arm of the couch.

"And you'd also have to somehow make sure you get into the same college."

Maribel nods along. Santana looks back up at her parents, channeling her earlier heat, but dimmed slightly with nerves.

"Then I just won't go to college. I'll follow Quinn wherever she goes."

"Ohhhh no, you are absolutely going to college, young lady!" Maribel says.

Santana throws her hands up in frustration.

"Why?! Why is it so important that I go to college? What exactly am I gonna learn there that'll help me do what I want to do? Dafuq do irregular verbs and shit got to do with being famous."

Maribel rolls her eyes.

"Oh god, not this again."

Santana's about to shout at her mother when Benicio steps in.

"What about a performing arts school, mija?"

Santana deflates a bit, her eyes softening when she turns to regard her father.

"Yeah, I mean that sounds good and all, but if it means that I can't be with Quinn and our baby, then I won't go."

Maribel lets her head fall into her palms, elbows propping the weight up on her knees.

"I know the answer before I even ask, but what about giving it up for adop-"

"Fuck no."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

They all sit in silence, soaking in the tension as they all race along three separate paths of thought.

Maribel sighs once more and lifts her head, concern pulling at her features, but also the knowledge that there's no fighting this.

"Okay. If you want to do this, we'll be there for you as much as we can."

Santana lets out a relieved breath, her anger and stubbornness fading into exhaustion, her will to fight the pressure building up behind her eyes drained away. Santana dives across the distance between them, and holds onto her mother. She mumbles into her shoulder,

"Thank you, mami."

Maribel pets her daughter's hair.

"You know that I just want what's best for you, don't you?"

Santana nods, trying to keep the tears from flowing, but cannot. Maribel holds her tighter as she feels the tears soaking through her shirt.

"Te amo, mija."

"Te amo, mami."

Benicio reaches down to rub Santana's back, comforting the girl.

"Alright, mija, look at me."

Santana releases her mother and turns her red eyes up to her father. His eyes look deadly serious, but encouraging at the same time.

"If you're going to do this, you're going to do it right."

"What does that mean?"

Benicio gives his wife a look. Her eyes widen, but she then hurries into the den. When she returns it's with a box. A very small box. She hands it to Santana with a smile.

"This was my Abuela's. I've been waiting to give this to you when you were a bit older, but… well, circumstances."

Santana opens the box to find a beautiful silver art deco ring, two small diamonds flanking one large one in the center.

Santana's brows furrow.

"Its beautiful, mami, but… marriage? We're still im high school! Don't you think this is… y'know, soon?"

Maribel responds with plenty of the Lopez attitude.

"You're about to have a baby, Santana. In your Sophomore year. I think we crossed the 'too soon' line three days and a week ago."

Santana turns to Ben, hoping for better luck.

"Papi, this i-"

He immediately shuts her down.

"I will not have my first nieta be a bastard, Diabla."

Santana sighs.

"How do you know it's going to be a girl?"

Ben shrugs, smile on his face.

"I'm your father. I know these things."

They all freeze when they hear a frantic knocking on the door.

* * *

**Monday, September 15 2019**

**8:29pm**

Quinn stands in the threshold to her home's living room. Her father sitting, stony and still as the grave, im his recliner, facing away from Quinn as he drinks his scotch. Judy Fabray is sitting on the couch, crying into a throw pillow.

"I said sit down, Lucy Quinn Fabray!."

Quinn finally moves, her bones shaking in fear so vigorously that she's afraid her flesh might fall away.

This feeling doesn't dampen whatsoever when she comes around to the other side of Russel's chair. Getting a look at her father's expression. He looks waxy, sweat brought on by the drink flowing through his body. His hard eyes don't look at her, but rather through her.

Quinn tries to force her Fabray genes into action, pushing down her authentic emotions and focusing only on her outer appearance. She puts on the airs of someone with no worries, taking her seat on the couch, crossing her legs. She looks very dainty indeed.

"What's going on, daddy? Is something wrong?"

Russel puts his scotch onto the end table and picks up a tiny white tablet, holding it up for Quinn to see.

"Do you know what this is?"

"A… pill?"

Russel nods slowly.

"Do you know what it's called?"

Quinn shakes her head in jerky motions, the Fabray cool melting from the heat of her fear.

Russel grabs a small box from the table and throws it at Quinn for her to catch.

"Read it."

Quinn looks down at the box, squinting her eyes.

"I don't have my contacts in. Can I go get my glasses?"

Russel huffs.

"It's called mifepristone. Do you know what that is for?"

"N-no."

Russel leans forward, glaring into his daughter's eyes.

"It's a pill for home abortions."

Quinn freezes.

"Now why would your mother have an abortion pill, little Lucy?"

Quinn is paralyzed with terror. He's drunk. He's pissed. For the first time in years, Quinn is afraid for her physical safety because of her father.

The overwhelming fear isn't enough to quieten the anger she now feels burning inside for her mother. She told her she wasn't going to abort her baby. Judy knew how she felt. She knew that Quinn already loved her child.

Images of Judy crushing the pill into a fine white powder and mixing it in with her protein powder. Of her forcing the pill onto Quinn without her knowledge.

She would just kill her baby and have her believe she miscarried.

"Answer me, Quinn."

"I don't know."

Russel throws his glass across the room, shattering against the wall. Both of the Fabray women seize up in terror. Quinn can feel her fight or flight instincts flaring up. Her eyes fly to the door, then the window. Any possible exit she could make.

Russel stands from his chair and storms toward Quinn. She can feel his ring across her face from all those years ago. When she was still Lucy Caboosey.

Before he can grab her, Quinn jumps up, vaulting over the back of the couch. She backs away as far as she can from the red-faced brute, separated from her only by a sofa.

"Daddy, please! I'm sorry! It was an accident, I swear!"

Russel kicks the couch, flipping it onto it's back end, Quinn startles and sobs, a river of terror and heartbreak flowing unchecked from her wide eyes.

Russel screams at her, fists clenched, vein bulging from his neck.

"Who is he?! Who did you whore out to?!"

"I- I didn't, I don't-"

"Was it that Hudson boy?! Did you let him fuck you?!"

Quinn backs away further as her father steps over the couch and forces his towering presence further and further into her space.

"No, daddy, I broke up with Finn. I just, I can't-"

Russel grabs his daughter by the throat and slams her against the wall.

"Who?"

Quinn chokes out, her airway closing, her face going purple for the lack of oxygen.

"Santana."

Russel releases Quinn, for the first time in this encounter being caught off guard.

"What?"

Quinn collapses to her knees, her body aching as it tries to gasp air into her lungs, but simultaneously forcing it all back out with her uncontrollable, body-wracking sobs.

"It was Santana."

"Do you think I'm stupid, Quinn? Santana is-"

"Intersexed. She is a girl, but she was born with a penis."

Russel pales, then goes right back to glowing red.

"So you're a slut and a dyke, is that what you're telling me?"

Quinn doesn't answer, just curling up, arms wrapping around her belly, hoping to protect her baby at all costs.

Russel sneers down at his daughter before walking back over to the end table and gulping more scotch down straight from the bottle.

"Please, daddy. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to. I- I love her."

Russel clenches up and puts the bottle back down. He runs his hand through his hair, fixing it back up to Mitt Romney levels of primness.

"Go upstairs and pack your things. You have fifteen minutes."

* * *

**Monday, September 15 2019**

**8:54pm**

Santana stands cautiously as her parents trade speculative looks and walk over to the door.

Benicio looks out the peephole, and immediately unlocks the door.

"Jesus Christ."

Santana feels the klaxons going off in her head.

What the fuck is-

"Quinn!"

Santana runs past her parents to put her arms around Quinn, the girl's eyes swollen. She hasn't been able to stop crying since her father threw her out of his life. Out of her own family. Fifteen minutes isn't a long time. Certainly not long enough to pack more than two bags of stuff max.

"How did he find out?"

"M-mom was going to t-try and sneak an ab-bortion pill into me. He f-found the box."

Santana can feel the fury swelling up inside her. But right now, Quinn is more important.

"Come on, baby. Come sit down."

She guides her girlfriend slowly to the couch, quinn still trying to bury her weeping in the crook of Santana's neck.

Benicio grabs Quinn's bags and goes to take them up to Santana's room as Maribel approaches the girls, intending on offering whatever comfort she can provide.

She stops in her tracks when she sees it; deep purple bruises swelling up on Quinn's neck.

"Oh my god."

Santana looks up at her mother with a questioning look. Maribel points to Quinn's injury.

Santana snaps, Snix taking over every part of her.

_Russel Fabray is a dead man._

Santana kisses Quinn on her crown then pulls her away.

"I'll be right back, alright baby? Mami is going to stay here and take care of you."

Quinn doesn't answer. Maribel tries to block Santana as she storms toward the door.

"No, little Diabla. I know, he deserves everything you-"

Santana doesn't even stop to answer. She shoves her mother out of her way. Nothing is going to stop her.

"Shit!" Maribel runs to the bottom of the staircase and shouts up. She's so panicked that her voice breaks.

"Beni!"

* * *

Russel Fabray drinks until the bottle is gone. Judy's gone upstairs to cry into Quinn's pillow. She mourns her as if she had died far too soon. As far as Russel is concerned, she has.

He goes into the kitchen to heat up some pizza. He needs something to help him get this day off his chest. Maybe after he eats, he'll go pay Alexis a visit. He knows adultery is wicked, but he's an otherwise pious man. He figures he's earned a little leeway when it comes to sin.

A knock on his back door gets his attention. A door that leads to his fenced-in back yard.

_Who the fuck has the balls to come onto my property without permission?_

Russel storms over to the door, fists clenched and ready to swing.

"Who the fuck do you thi-"

**_Wham!_ **

As soon as he opens the door, Russel is smashed across the face with Santana's ribbed paddle. The man's jaw cracks like an egg, crashing onto the tiled floor of his kitchen.

Santana doesn't stop there, taking the paddle to his sides, going as hard as she can for at least two fractured ribs. Maybe if she's lucky one of them will pierce a lung or something.

She shouts at the sonofabitch in spanish with every swing.

_"Crees que puedos tocar a la madre de me hijo y no te pistoearé la cara? Te voy a matar, maldito coño!"_

Russel gets the upper hand by kicking Santana's legs out from under her. She tries to push herself back up to her feet, but Russel moves too quickly. He fists her hair and violently pulls. Santana screams as Russel pulls his fist back. Santana's eyes go wide just before his knuckles bash into her cheekbone, brain rattling around inside her skull.

Santana falls back to the floor, seemingly down for the count. She groans as she reaches up to her face, discovering that Russel's ring had split her cheek open to such an extent, that If she wanted she could poke her finger through and feel her teeth.

"Goddamn crazy spick. You did this. You corrupted my daughter. I should-"

Santana surprises Russel by managing somehow to push herself back to her feet. Her body shakes with pain, on the verge of shutting down. Her will keeps her on her feet.

Santana raises her fists in a weak fighting stance. Her words come out slurred as she says,

"I'm not done with you yet, motherfucker."

Russel chuckles.

"Jesus. You've got the fire in you, I'll give you that."

Just before Santana can throw a weak punch at Russel, he's knocked to the ground by a freight train in the shape of Benicio Lopez. The man tackles Russel to the ground and lays into him. Punching him once, twice, three times. With the third punch, Russel's bloodied face goes slack, finally unconscious.

Benicio pants, his slightly out of shape dad-bod not used to fighting anymore. He stands and turns to his daughter.

"Papi…"

Ben rushes forward to catch her as she passes out.

Benicio pulls his phone out as he cradles his daughter.

_"911, what's your emergency?"_


	9. (Haven't got it) Television Romance

Quinn stopped crying about ten minutes ago. Her eyes, puffy and red, stare blankly into space. Looking at her, you might think she was thinking deeply about something. But the reality is that she simply isn't there.

Maribel holds Quinn close as she chews her thumbnail, eyes shooting over to the door about every five seconds. Each time the door doesn't open she stiffens a little more, her nerves eating her alive.

When the door finally opens, it does nothing to calm her nerves. She'll remember this sight for the rest of her life. Ben carrying Santana, bloodied and battered. Her face is bleeding, her eye swollen shut. She releases Quinn and jumps up at once.

"Oh my god, Santana!"

Maribel runs to Benicio, moving to cradle Santana's head. Maribel cries over her daughter.

"My baby! What did he do to her? Her face is bleeding, Beni. Call an ambulance!"

Ben pushes past his wife to lay Santana down on the couch. 

"Quinn, I need you to hold her head. She was punched very hard in the face, we need to keep her head still. If she has any brain damage, moving her head around could make things far worse."

Quinn stares down at Santana's twisted and broken face, shock overtaking her senses.

Benicio snaps at her, 

"Quinn!"

She breaks out of her paralysis and turns to Ben. She can't see him through the tears blurring her sight, but nods and cradles Santana's head as gently as she can.

"Good girl."

Benicio stands, leaving Santana with Quinn. He heads for the door.

"Where are you going?!" Maribel says to him as he pulls the door open.

"To wait for the police. Maribel, I need you to get at least three wet wrags, and press them  _ very  _ gently on the cut on her cheek. Try and slow the bleeding."

With that he leaves.

Quinn stares down at Santana, Maribel running off to get her wrags.

_ Please, god. Please. _

_____________________________________

_ Quinn raises a brow at Santana. _

_ "You're being ridiculous, San." _

_ Santana turns to look at Quinn, her frown not visible behind her medical mask, but Quinn just knows it's there. At this point the three had been in quarantine for six weeks, but even still, it only just now occurred to her to use the gloves and masks that Quinn stocked up on before the lockdown went into effect. _

_ "What, because I don't want to get the Kung Flu, or whatever it's called? Excuse me for being responsible. Aren't you always telling me I need to be more responsible, anyway? Make up your mind, Q, god!" _

_ Quinn crosses her arms. _

_ "No. Because we're locked in our apartment and have been for over two weeks, we don't need the masks in our own home." _

_ Santana rolls her eyes. _

_ "Secondly, we're the only ones here. And I'm pretty sure we would know by now if either of us was infected." _

_ Santana raises a brow. _

_ "I don't know about that, babe. You're lookin' pretty pale there." _

_ "I'm always pale, Santana. I'm a white person, if you remember." _

_ Santana snorts.  _

_ "Yeah… so weird." _

_ Quinn shakes her head and puts up a third finger.  _

_ "Thirdly, you're trying to put an adult-sized mask onto a newborn. It's never going to fit!" _

_ Santana gasps, turning to their tiny bald daughter, gazing up at Santana curiously, a medical mask covering nearly her entire face, aside from the eyes and up. _

_ "Do you hear this, mija? Your ma doesn't believe in me!" _

_ She picks the baby up off the mattress and carries her away, bouncing her lightly in her arms. _

_ "We don't have to take this! We're leaving!" _

_ She storms out of the room. Or as close as you can get to storming out when you're still walking very carefully. _

_ Quinn sighs and walks into the living room after her.  _

_ Santana has stretched a blanket across the negative space between the couch and the coffee table, effectively constructing a fort for them. She's whispering as loudly as one could and it still be a whisper to the baby. _

_ "Mommy's really being sort of a bitch today, isn't she baby? I know what you're thinking, and it's not PMS." _

_ Quinn scoffs and walks toward the "fort". _

_ "Then why is she such a cranky turd-blossom, you ask? Well I'll tell you. It's because when you slid out of her, you fucked up her ladybits hardcore, and so she hasn't been able to take a good, had plowing in a while." _

_ Quinn ducks down to the entrance. _

_ "Jesus Christ, Santana! Don't talk about that stuff in front of Beth!" _

_ Santana scowls at Quin. And shouts, _

_ "Hey! There's no communication allowed between inside-fort-people and outside-fort-people!" _

_ "And why is that?" _

_ Santana shrugs. _

_ "Hey, I don't make the rules. You want to question 'em, talk to your daughter." _

_ Quinn rolls her eyes and crawls into the fort. _

_ "Hey! You can't just come in here! You have to submit an application for dual citizenship first!" _

_ Quinn plops down next to Santana. _

_ "There, now we're all inside-fort-people." _

_ Santana sneers at Quinn childishly. _

_ "Yeah, I doubt it. You got a greencard, missy?" _

_ Quinn adjusts so she can lay down and cuddle up with Santana and Beth. She sighs in contentment and closes her eyes. _

_ "I do have a greencard." _

_ "Oh yeah? And where is it at?" _

_ "Up your butt." _

_ Santana pokes a finger in Quinn's side as she laughs heartily. _

_ "That's not regulation! I'm gonna have to bring you in for questioning." _

_ Quinn speaks through her laughter, _

_ "Oh yeah? You gonna handcuff me, officer?" _

_ Santana quirks a brow and lets her hand slide down to cup Quinn's butt. _

_ "I just might." _

_ Quinn leans in, smiling into a kiss. As Santana deepens it, Quinn moans, but pulls back. _

_ "We still have another week, San." _

_ Santana sighs. No one has been in such a state of despair as she. _

_ "Yeah, I know." _

_ Quinn cuddles back up to Santana as she rubs up and down Quinn's backside. _

_ "You know, speaking of butts… there's something we haven't done in a while." _

_ Quinn smacks Santana's leg. _

_ "No, Santana." _

_ "Come on, babe… we haven't done that in a long time!" _

_ "For a reason!" _

_ Santana scoffs. _

_ "Oh please, Fabray. You and I both know you looooved it. You just can't find it in you to admit that pure little christian Lucy Q. Fabray likes it up the a-" _

_ "Baby ears!" _

_ Santana chuckles, kissing Quinn's hair. She looks over to Beth, finding the infant fast asleep. _

_ "Alright you win. We'll wait." _

_ Quinn bites her lip, a debate raging internally. _

_ "Maybe… I mean- I mean maybe if-" _

_ Santana grins, her voice smug. _

_ "Yeeeees?" _

_ Quinn sighs in defeat. _

_ "Maybe if you stop it with these stupid masks, we can maybe do it tonight? I mean I'll think about it." _

_ Santana chuckles again and gives Quinn's butt a squeeze. _

_ "You got yourself a deal, Fabray." _

_ Quinn buries her reddening face in Santana's bosom.  _

_ Quinn hates it when Santana's right. _

_ And she is. _

_ Quinn does love it. _

_ But she's not about to say that out loud! _

____________________________________

**Tuesday, September 17th 2019**

"Fuck, dude."

Santana tries to open her eyes, but can only get one open, and when she opens the one, she immediately regrets it. Santana is nearly blinded by the bright light over her bed, closing her good eye immediately. She blinks a few more times, giving her eye time to adjust to the light.

_ Hospital? The fuck is- _

She hears a gasp from beside her.

_ Quinn. _

"Q, baby, are you alright?"

Quinn smiles at her, watery eyes and all, and asks,

"Am I alright? Are  _ you  _ alright? Santana, you got punched so hard your cheek burst open!"

_ Oh yeah. _

Santana reaches up to her face, feeling the gauze bandage applied to her cheek. Quinn smacks her hand away.

"Stop it! You'll tear the stitches if you play with it."

"What happened?"

Quinn sighs and takes the hand she just smacked. She runs her thumb over bruised knuckles, then brings them up to her lips for a soft kiss.

"Your dad followed you. Saved you. He was… well, who knows what he would have done. Thank god your dad came in when he did."

"And where is…. Y'know, your da-"

Quinn cuts her off, edge to her voice.

" _ Russel _ is in the hospital as well. He came out a lot worse than you did, you'll be happy to know. Fractured jaw, two broken ribs. He's lost his hearing in his right ear. He's one floor down, handcuffed to a bed with Lima PD guarding his room."

Santana feels a spike of worry.

"And me?"

"You what?"

Santana bites her lip.

"I mean, I hit him first. With a weapon. That's gotta be totally illegal, right?"

Quinn smirks.

"In normal circumstances it would be. But Russel drew first blood. He attacked me before you stepped foot on his property. Me, a pregnant minor. Pregnant with  _ your  _ child moreover. This classifies as defense of another, and we're both minors. So defense of a minor as well. You're all good, S."

Santana feels the spike flatten under the force of relief.

"Awesome. I really didn't want to be one of those parents locked up till my kid is grown."

Quinn smiles and light as a feather, strokes Santana's cheek. 

"Well you don't have to worry about that."

Quinn leans down to give Santana a chaste kiss.

Santana groans at just  _ how  _ chaste it is.

"Come on, babe, gimme a little tongue at least!"

Quinn smirks at her girlfriend and boops her on the nose.

"You think you're getting tongue when you're over here looking like Rocky after going toe-to-toe with Apollo Creed? Think again, hun."

_ Okay, that was a good one. _

"Bitch."

Quinn pats Santana on the head like a dog.

"It'll be okay, mami."

Santana groans.

"That's not fair."

Quinn laughs at Santana's expense.

"Oops."

_____________________________________

**Monday, September 23 2019**

The rest of the week for the two was spent recuperating at Santana's - and now Quinn's home. 

Thankfully, there hadn't been any brain damage as Benicio had speculated. There hadn't been much lasting damage other than her shredded cheek, which is sure to leave a nasty scar. Santana feels two ways about this; on one hand, facial scars? Totally not hot. On the other hand? She'll totally look like one of those badass biker chicks.

Which is fitting, since another thing she has in common with biker chicks is that if you fuck with her, she'll wrap a chain around your bitch-ass head.

She's seriously considering getting a hog now, the image of her leathered up with Quinn, her pregnant old lady wrapped around her.

Quinn, however, has forbidden it, saying Harleys are super douchey. She also threatened to never sleep with Santana again if she got one.

So obviously that dream died hard.

On Saturday, they got the rest of Quinn's things and set her up in Santana's room. Santana and Benicio had taken the liberty of… well, not  _ breaking  _ and entering. More just… entering the Fabray home while Judy was going to visit Russel in his jail cell. 

He had been denied bail, considering just two 

doors down from his home lived the two minor girls he assaulted.

The Lopez's offered Quinn the guest room so she could have her own space, but she was adamant that she wanted to stay with Santana.

She had recently discovered that she doesn't sleep well without Santana any longer. She's been haunted with nightmares since the night her father beat Santana to a pulp. 

Alternate versions of that night in which Russel didn't let her go, his hands staying wrapped around her throat. Squeezing tighter and tighter. Until her windpipe caves in, the last thing she sees is her father's eyes boring into hers, pure hate radiating from them.

Then there were other nightmares far worse. The ones that cause her to wake up sobbing, drenched in sweat. The ones in which Benicio didn't make it in time. The ones in which he carries Santana through the door in far worse shape than she was. The ones in which when he lays her in Quinn's lap, Santana's eyes gaze up at her, no light in them. No warmth. No life.

The nightmares in which she wakes up drenched in her own blood, losing not just Santana, but their child as well.

So yeah, she would much rather be as close to Santana as possible, whether she's awake or asleep. 

And it's because of her new anxieties about losing Santana that she stands at the double doors to McKinley now, hand in hand with her girlfriend, about to enter the school, with no intentions of letting Santana unclasp their hands.

I mean, that doesn't mean she's not  _ nervous _ about it. But she's stubborn and determined. She's had to keep telling herself that there's nothing wrong with their being together. That it doesn't matter what these losers think. 

But there's always that little voice telling her that she's a sinner. That her baby's existence is an abomination against god. It's no surprise that the voice sounds an awful lot like her father.

Quinn inhales deeply and releases it slowly through pursed lips. Santana looks at her worriedly. 

"Q, you know we don't have to do this now, right? I'm not gonna be upset or anything. As long as I know I got you, that's all that matters to me."

Quinn's face hardens, looking up with her nose high. If she's going to nut up and do this, she's going to need the HBIC.

"No. Fuck these losers. It doesn't matter what they think. And besides, I'm still the Head Bitch In Charge. And they all know it. They say anything, they get to go dumpster diving after lunch on spaghetti day."

Dear god. The school's spaghetti is… well, it's not definitely not spaghetti. Santana couldn't tell you what it truly was. She doesn't think anyone could.

"Shit, Q, I knew you were a bitch, but that's just demented. I think that's what they did to the guys locked up in Gitmo!"

Quinn smirks.

"Gitmo ain't got shit on me."

Santana grins widely.

"I knew there was a reason I loved you."

The two then turn back to the doors.

"You ready for this, Q?"

Her voice shakes as she says,

"Yeah, you?"

Santana shrugs and says,

"Take me out to the black, tell 'em I ain't coming back."

Quinn smiles fondly and returns with the next lyric,

"Burn the land and boil the sea,"

The two grin at each other as they sing the final line.

"You can't take the sky from me."

Quinn shakes her head.

"Nerd."

"Bitch."

"You love me."

"A little."

"Yeah, me too."

They walk through the doors hand-in-hand.


	10. (What everybody wants from you) Cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Hey guys, I’m so sorry about the delay. The city where I live ordered a complete lockdown, so I had to get out of town before it went into effect so I could get back home to my family. Wait this thing out with them. So it’s been super hectic the last couple of days, plus on Friday I realized that I left my WIP screenplay behind, and had an emotional breakdown over it. So that’s why I missed Friday. But I also want to let you all know that I’m probably going to cut back to just Mondays for a while, because I’m preparing for Camp NaNoWriMo and the novel I’m starting on the first (which so happens to be my birthday, go figure).   
> I’m hoping that I’ll have enough time and drive to keep writing enough on this story that I can post twice a week as I usually do, but you should probably expect just Mondays throughout April just in case.

On the outside, Quinn looks completely calm. On the inside, she’s panicking. She has to fight the instinct to let her eyes snap around to all the peasants lining the hallway. Each of them burning through she and Santana with their judgmental eyes, whispering with one another about them.

_“Holy shit, is she a dyke?”,_

_“Ew, why does Santana look like she got kicked in the face by a donkey?”,_

_“What the fuck is wrong with them?”_

Santana cringes internally. She knows Quinn well enough to recognize the anxiety flowing through her right now… plus, she’s got a bone-breaking grip on her hand.

“Quinn, we’re okay.”

“I know.” Quinn says.

_No you don’t._

Santana doesn’t leave Quinn’s side when they arrive at her locker. She can get her books later. Santana leans back onto the locker next to Quinn’s, arms crossed and glaring at anyone who even glances in their direction, and shouting at the few who’s eyes linger.

“The fuck you lookin’ at, dicksplash?”

“Best keep your eyes to yourself, or I’ll scoop them out with a hot spoon!”

“Keep walkin’, enema boy!”

Quinn smirks as she pulls her books out and closes her locker. 

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, well I’m gonna.” Santana replies.

She keeps the sour look on her face as she turns to Quinn’s fond smile. It’s a difficult endeavor, though. Every time Quinn looks at her like that, Santana feels like the “after” version of one of those people in a commercial for anti-depressants.

San clears her throat and nods her head down the hall.

“Let’s go. We still have time to grab a slushy before first period. Bitches see us with a slushy in our hands, bitches don’t fuck with us, you feel?”

Quinn shakes her head and steps closer to Santana. That incredible smell overtakes Santana. That smell of old books and strawberries and-

_No way._

Quinn feels like the storm of the century is raging in her belly, excitement and horror plaguing her in equal measures. 

_It’s now or never._

Quinn reaches to cup Santana’s cheek and slowly leans down to kiss her. She’s never been so aware of eyes tearing through her, but the second her lips make contact with Santana, they all fade away. All that exists are Santana’s lips. Santana’s tongue. Santana’s warm skin against hers. The storm calms, the feeling of Santana flooding each of Quinn’s senses. Comforting her.

They pull apart, but only just. Their eyes maintain their contact, the glances they trade warm, the breath they share even warmer.

It’s easy to stay lost in one another, because the hallway is dead quiet. So quiet that eventually it’s exactly that charged silence that pulls the girls back to earth.

Despite no one saying a thing, Quinn feels the rush of thoughts shouting her down. Pummeling her into submission. She reaches up to grasp the crucifix on her neck. She fists the metal piece with such strength that she’s but an ounce of pressure from breaking the skin.

The first place Quinn’s mind goes is a place filled with fire, yet dark as night. The unwanted attention making her want to lash out at everyone in the hallway. All the inbred onlookers for making her feel like this, Santana for making her confront her sexuality, and even herself for having these feelings in the first place. 

What scares her about it, though, is that her thoughts aren’t cruel by high school standards. No, the place her head goes is physically violent to an extent that if Quinn were to ponder on it in a sober moment of calm, it would turn her stomach. It very nearly does so now. She hates herself even more for being the kind of person who could actually think about someone she loves in such a way. What kind of person thinks like this? 

_Why? Why is my first instinct always to hurt everyone around me?_

What does this say about her as a person? Jesus. Is she even fit to raise a child?

Quinn’s miserable eyes trail the floor as she mumbles to Santana, “I’m going to head to class.”

Santana reaches to grab Quinn’s wrist as she moves to leave. 

“Q, I-” 

Quinn shakes her head and says,   
“San, it’s fine. I’m fine. Promise. No regrets, okay?” 

Santana’s face bunches up in an expression of clear disbelief.

“Yeah, okay. Just… keep me posted, huh?” 

Quinn smiles and gives her a nod.

As the two part, Santana stares after Quinn with worry plaguing her insides. Once her girlfriend turns the corner, that worry immediately morphs into fury.   
She looks around at the student body, still staring openly at her. Santana storms over to her locker, snarling out at the gaggle of gaping losers - 

“The fuck you bitches staring for? All your girlfriends gremlins? Can’t get her wet, so you’re taking notes?”

That acts as a splash of cold water to the face for the various freaks, geeks, and sluts littering the halls of McKinley. They all go about their business, but now whispering furiously between one another about what is probably the hottest topic they’ve had in well over a year - scratch that - a decade!

_I’ve gotta find Puck._

* * *

As soon as Quinn enters her first period classroom, she’s assaulted by a rush of blonde barreling into her, crushing her in a tight hug.

“Brittany?”

Brittany hums inquisitively as she enjoys her warm-Quinn-hug.

“Not that I don’t like your hugs or anything, but what’s up?”

Brittany pulls back with a blinding smile.

“Oh, right! I heard about you and San. I’m so happy for you guys! I knew you guys would get back together!”

Quinn feels a sudden need to glance at the clock.

“How did you find out already? No one knew until like two minutes ago.”

Brittany holds her phone up for Quinn to see the open group text.

“Mercedes texted the entire glee club about it a minute and twenty three seconds ago.”

Of course she did. Quinn feels like she should roll her eyes about now, but she thinks that if she did at the necessary emphasis, they might actually roll out of her head.

“So you guys are together-together? You’re not just having sexytimes like last year?” Brittany asks.

Quinn shakes her head as she walks to her desk, Brittany taking the seat beside her.

“No, we’re not just having sexytimes. Yes, we’re together-together.” Quinn says.

Brittany exudes her elation. It kind of makes Quinn sick.

“Awesome! Does this mean you can have sweet lady kisses with me and San now? I wanted to ask you a long time ago, but San said I couldn’t.”

Never mind. That is what makes Quinn sick.

“Yeah, no, sorry, B. And you and San really can’t have sweet lady kisses together anymore. Me and Santana are only going to be together with each other.”  
Quinn says, her annoyance coming out in her tone of voice. She’d normally hold it back with Brittany, but she feels too shitty to bother.

“Oh, okay. Well can we do it once at least? I’ve had sweet lady kisses with Santana before, but I never have with you, and I really wanna.”

Jesus, please get her out of having to finish this conversation. 

“Umm… How about this? If you stop talking about it, I’ll consider it.” Quinn says.

Brittany nods with a smile. Victory is sweet!

* * *

“Puckerman!”

Puck sighs in disappointed resignation when the redhead he was chatting up had a visceral fight-or-flight reaction to the sound of Santana’s voice and fled. He can’t say that if it were a possibility for him, he wouldn’t do the same. Safety first, after all.

“Yes, Santan- Woah! What happened to your face, dude?! You look like a California Raisin.”

Santana is not a vain person. Okay, she is, but can you blame her? On a bad day, she’s forty-one flavors of fuckable. But today is a very bad day. So despite her total lack of respect for Puck, his rightly pointing out her deformity still stings a great deal.

“Your mother sat on it last night.” She says.

He tenses at that. Puck prides himself on being a believer in total freedom of sexual speech - speaking his mind freely and openly about hot chicks, whether he’s taken them to bed or not, and not bothering censoring himself, no matter who is around… But don’t say shit about his mom. It’s really not cool, man, she’s a good lady.

Just don’t ask Puck the definition of “hypocrisy” anytime soon.

“Bro, don’t-”

Santana points a finger dangerously up at Puck, shushing him to satisfactory effect.

“You’ve got too many things to get done to be yapping.”

Puck’s brow raises curiously.

“What stuff?”

Santana hands him a wad of cash.

“You’re going to drain that slushy machine. Every drop.”

Puck shakes his head, clearly not understanding what she’s getting at, he asks,  
“Wait, what? Who are we slushying that we need that much?

Santana’s eyes harden as if she were a grizzled war vet who’s seen too much.

“Everyone.”

Yeah, that didn’t help with the confusion thing.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific, bro.” He says.

Santana motions for Puck to look around the hallway at all the little people. Most of them are obviously sneaking occasional looks at Santana. And not the looks she likes to get, the ones that say “Mother of god, please don’t hurt me!”. No, these are knowing looks. Looks that reflect in them the owner’s idiotic self assurance that they know a goddamn thing about her. Every time she sees it, her fingers itch for her paddle.

“You see this? This shit ain’t going to fly. Quinn and I just came out, so these cunts think our standing is in jeopardy. We gonna have to slap them with our cocks, remind them who’s king bitch.”

Puck feels three wildly conflicting emotions tug at him as he absorbs this new information. The stiffness of shock as he realizes what Santana has been hinting at for the last few weeks. He never had a shot with Quinn. Not just because he’s not good enough for her, but because she’s gay. The second is a weight dropping through his stomach at the knowledge that he’ll never have a shot with her. The third is a rushing of his blood down to his loins. Quinn and Santana? Hot.

“Wait, so you and Quinn are getting gay on each other?”

Santana rolls her eyes.

“Duh. You seriously haven’t heard yet? “

“No.”

“Well yeah. We’re gay.”

“Huh.”

Puck’s eyes glaze over, staring into space. Santana allows a moment of silence to pass between them as Puck processes everything. After a few moments of waiting, she has had her fill of patience.

“Puck!”

His eyes clear up and focus back onto Santana.

“Sorry. I was just picturing it. Hot.” Puck says with a smirk.

The smirk drops, though, when Santana punches him in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Focus! Slushies, Puck! Slushies! You’re going to slushy as many random losers as it takes for that machine to go empty. Get a few gorillas together that you trust. Not Finn, though. Don’t stop at slushies, either. I’m talking locker checks, dumpster tosses, swirlies, put a pube in their lunch, egg a bitch, anything you deem appropriate and/or funny. We’re making a statement.”

Puck nods. He knows he might just have to take a few punches for this, but he’ll take a beating for a handful of cash any day. That probably explains a few of his deficiencies, honestly.

“Cool.”

Santana feels satisfaction warming her chest. She allows herself a smirk as she turns to walk away. Her pace freezes and her smirk grows just as she’s exiting the scene, she thinks of one more thing.

“And make sure to get Jewfro at least twice. Preferably when his camera is out. For posterity and all..”

* * *

Blood and slushies flow in equal measure that day in McKinley. There hadn’t been such unchecked chaos in the school in modern memory. For the first time in forever, the red of a letterman jacket couldn’t protect you. Cheerios and jocks, AV nerds and wallflowers who until now enjoyed anonymity. There was no such thing anymore. No more anonymity, no more safety, no exceptions. And Santana took enormous pride in her work. With Puck as a middleman, she’d have the apes on the hockey team slushy the football players, who would respond in kind. With slushies as well as with clenched fists. Then the strings would be pulled in such a way that the entire AV club somehow summoned the balls to egg the senior cheerios. Those nerds would then be tossed into the dumpster or shoved into their lockers by the boyfriends of those cheerios. At one point things fizzed up to the surface and exploded, a mass rumble breaking out in the cafeteria.

It was absolute pandemonium.

It was fucking awesome.

Santana was careful, though. While she had no qualms about taking credit for the hysteria, she had to make sure Quinn was protected. So a short but stern conversation with Karofsky took care of that worry. 

“I know that suffering from elephantiasis of the… _everything_ … might make skulduggery neigh impossible for your giant ass, but you’re going to have to try with all your might to be discreet here. If Quinn realizes that you’re following her, she’ll know I put you on it, and kick my ass. And if my ass gets kicked, your ass gets kicked out of the closet. Feel me?”

And with the biggest, dumbest bodyguard she could possibly blackmail into her service, they were off to the races. Surely Quinn took notice of the chaos, and surely she had an inkling as to who was responsible for it, but she didn’t look quite as pleased as Santana had assumed she’d be. Huh. Maybe she doesn’t realize that Santana is doing this to protect them. Whatever, they’ll talk after Glee. 

But no one said that the excitement wouldn’t follow her into glee. Honestly, it was probably a huge oversight on her part that she didn’t expect it to. Glee is packed with the biggest drama queens in the school, of course they would make sure they got their piece. And that’s just what she tells herself when she and Quinn enter the choir room that day, walking in on Kurt - sticky and stained from melted ice and artificial food color - shrieking at Puck, who does look like he feels bad, but also just looks kind of annoyed.

“Do you have any idea how much this top cost me?! And now it’s ruin-”

Quinn shoves a shrill whistle out through between her teeth, killing the ruckus consuming the room. Every member of the club turns to face the two girls standing in the doorway. Well, every member other than Finn, who has yet to appear. 

Quinn eyes each of them one by one with hard features until she gets to those in the center of the conflict. Quinn drags Santana along by their conjoined hands toward the two boys in the center of the room so she can properly intimidate them.

“What happened?”

When both Kurt and Puck try to answer at the same time, Quinn shushes them both. And despite both of them running off of heightened emotions, both of them shut up. This is Quinn after all.

“Kurt, you go first.” She says.

The boy seems to swell with what he perceives as a righteous indignation, and it’s that indignation that comes through in his words as he rushes them out as fast as he can.

“Puck slushied me! And this top is silk, and now-”

Puck tries to cut him off, but Kurt just speaks louder.

“That’s not true! I didn’t slushy him, Azimio slushied him! I just _told_ Azimio to slushy him!.” Puck shouts.

Kurt scoffs.

“As if that makes it any better? Either way, you’re the one buying me a new shirt!” 

“Stop.”

They quieten again at Quinn’s behest. She closes her eyes, thinking on some of the meditation videos she spent most of last night researching. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Cool. Calm. Collected. And… eyes open.

“Puck, why are you having Azimio slushy people? And more to the point; Why are you having him slushy people in the glee club?”

_Don’t you say it, you sonofa-_

“Santana told me to.”

_-bitch._

Santana cringes as she feels her knuckles crack at the pressure Quinn now applies to the hand clasped to her own. Quinn turns to Santana with a deceptively blank stare, then after a moment of inspecting her girlfriend, she closes her eyes and tries it again. Cool. Calm. Collected... Crock of shit, yeah. Nope. Doesn’t work. Quinn is pissed.

“Santana?”

Moments pass as Santana tries to find a way to wiggle out of this. When nothing comes to her, she just takes to abusing Puck.

“I didn’t tell you to get the fuckin’ gleeks, jackass!” Santana says.

“Hey, you said _‘Slushy everyone. No exceptions’_!” Puck returns.

Santana rolls her eyes and growls her response.

“Well obviously I didn’t mean the fucking glee club!”

“But that would be an exception! You said no exceptions!”

“Well yeah, but come on. Of course there were going to be some exceptions! I didn’t think I needed to say that for you to understand that our friends don’t count, but obviously you’re stupid enough to not even understand the concept of subtext. I bet you thought Xena and Gabrielle were just gal pals too, huh?”

Artie crosses his arms at that.

“What are you implying about Xena and Gabrielle?”

Tina’s eyes flicker about the room, the confusion reading clear through them.

“Who are Xena and Gabrielle?” She asks.

Quinn cuts them all off harshly.

“So not the point! Santana! What the hell are you doing purposefully kickstarting teenage Ragnarok?” Quinn says, probing Santana with rough eyes.

Santana lets the fight fall out of her through a sigh.

“I did it for us, Q. Hit hard and hit fast, remind people that just cause we’re gay now doesn’t mean they can try shit. Remind ‘em why you don’t fuck with the trinity.”

Quinn’s eyes soften for a moment before her mind goes back to that place she found herself in this morning. That place of self-loathing and total uncertainty about the quality of her own character.

“San… I-”

“So it’s true?!”

They all turn at the voice coming from the doorway. Finn stands there with dried egg yolks covering his form, face burning a fiery red to match his mood.

_Great. Just great._


	11. Startin' With the (Wo)man in the Mirror

Moments pass as the club watches, eagerly anticipating the confrontation between Finn - coated in egg yolks, Quinn, and Santana. The three trade tense looks, each tense for different reasons. Santana worries about how Quinn will react, Finn is furious at even the idea that the rumors could be true, and Quinn herself feels that same hysteria she gets every time the thought of coming out assaults her. She’s had to deal with this feeling countless times just in this singular day. Not that she expected today to be a good one, but dude… seriously? 

The way the three look back and forth, each having plenty to say, bullets locked into the chamber and ready to fire, but none of them wanting to be the one to shoot first. It’s oddly reminiscent of a Mexican standoff. 

Okay, this is stupid.  
Santana thinks to herself, forcing her body to relax as her voice lets itself be submerged in a pool of venom.

“Where you been, Rockbiter? Abortion clinic for barnyard animals?” Santana says, trying to draw aggro away from her pregnant girlfriend.

Finn obviously doesn’t appreciate her preemptive strike, the discord in his belly bubbling up his gullet and erupting from his lips.

“Shut the fuck up, skank! Is it true, Quinn?!”

Before Quinn can snap back at him, Rachel jumps up and starts shouting Finn down,

“Finn Hudson, how dare you call a woman-”

He doesn’t get sidetracked by the tiny girl this time, stepping with the intent to menace toward Quinn.

“Is it true?!”

As soon as he tries stepping into her girl’s space, Santana rolls up her sleeves and begins to stomp toward Finn. It’s time to make things physical. Before she can shove him back as intended, Quinn grabs her by the arm.

“Santana, no!”

The only word that comes to Santana for how she feels at Quinn stopping her is ‘gobsmacked’. She sends the word packing before it gets a chance to settle, though. She’d never use a word so lame and weird.

“Seriously, Q? I’m not about to let the fucking missing link tal-”

Quinn’s grip is firm, but still loving. She pulls Santana back towards her and bores into her with pleading eyes. As much as Santana wants to fight Quinn on this, what she sees in Quinn’s eyes alarms her enough to relent. Only on rare occasions has she ever seen Quinn look so desparate. So devastated. The self-loathing that floods from that one look hits Santana like a ton of bricks. Her anger dissipates in favor of heartache and overwhelming concern. The two waltz throughout her insides, twisting them amongst themselves. Tangling them painfully.

“Quinn?” Santana whispers.

Quinn just shakes her head, glancing back to the floor shamefully. A few deep breaths allow her to compose herself before looking up at Finn with that classic HBIC glare. Though it’s different somehow. And Santana isn’t the only one to pick up on that. Quinn just stares at the tall boy until he starts to shift nervously, glancing around at the other members of Glee as if he could find some sort of help from one of them. As if. 

Quinn says nothing. She only grips Santana’s hand and drags her out of the choir room. All is quiet for a long moment. 

Kurt is the first to move, pulling out a pen and paper, laying it down onto the piano so he can write on the sheet. Kurt glides up to Finn with all the attitude of a snooty Karen type. But instead of asking for Finn’s manager, he just hands him the paper and demands primly,

“For the damages to my outfit. You have until Wednesday.”

Finn’s features sour with annoyance and confusion as he scans the number written upon the paper.

“But I didn’t do anything to your outfit.”

Kurt huffs and plants his hands on his hips.

“At this point, I don’t care, Finn. Someone is paying for this shirt, and it’s not going to be me!”

Out of curiosity, Puck leans over to read the paper over Finn’s shoulder. 

“Jesus, dude! How can you afford that in the first place?! Your dad is, like, a mechanic isn’t he?” Puck says after his dark eyes bulge at the makeshift receipt. 

Kurt just sniffs and looks away.

“I’d rather not say.”

* * *

  
Santana is a person who is unfortunately very associative in nature. When she experiences great feelings of hurt, anger, love… she is someone who allows those emotions to become intertwined with the place in which she experienced these things. The people who may not have even been involved, but may have been nearby. When Quinn broke her heart last year, she became even more of a terror than she had been in the past. Because of that night last summer when Quinn kicked her out of her life, the two standing on opposite sides of Quinn’s bed, sheets in disarray. They were in bed that night, having been lost in one another for hours. Santana didn’t mean to let it slip out, but Quinn was so beautiful. She made her feel so alive. Santana never stood a chance. She said those three horrible words, 

“I love you.”

Because of the devastation she felt that night, she has never been able to look at Quinn’s house the same way again. Just going near it brought back those feelings of… emptiness. Bitterness. Fury. Santana had spent years of her life holed up in that very same bedroom, the two playing together as children, talking through the confusion of puberty, discovering themselves, then discovering one another. Loving one another. There were so many good times in that bedroom. Despite all of that good, though, Santana can’t stomach being near the Fabray home. But she subjects herself to the pain of staring out her window at the house, though. She’s a bit of a masochist like that.

And McKinley high is like ground zero for like 90% of the terrible shit Santana’s had to deal with over the years. She can’t look at the braindead faces lining the hallways without feeling sick to her stomach. Hell, she can’t see the halls themselves without that leftover bitterness. And now it looks even more revolting than usual. Santana feels nervous. Worried. Powerless. And Santana Lopez does not do powerless. And if Quinn thinks she can squeak through this one and not have to talk about this, she’s got another thing coming! If you’re going to stop Santana from beating down on the not-so-great Khali back there, you had better have a damn good reason.

That feeling doesn’t diminish in the car on the way home. Quinn hasn’t said a word since leaving the choir room. Santana’s body physically aches, the nerves and negativity bouncing around inside her painfully, and by the time she pulls into the driveway of her house, she just feels tired. Neither girl makes a move to exit the car. Santana’s eyes keep wanting to flicker over to Quinn, but she won’t allow them, forcing them to stay locked onto the steering wheel. 

Then she hears a sniffle, and she breaks. Immediately looking over to Quinn, finding the girl’s face gone red, cheeks wet with tears. Quinn clasps one hand within the other, mashing it around and bending her fingers in odd directions. Though if you asked her about it, she wouldn’t have even recognized that she had done this in the first place.

“Q?”

Quinn doesn’t look toward her, eyes staying glued to her raucous hands. Though she doesn’t look, she does hear her.

“I need help, Santana.”

Santana reaches over to pull Quinn’s hands apart, winding their fingers together.

“I’m always here to help you, baby. Just tell me what you need!” Santana says.

Quinn shakes her head, then finally looks up to meet Santana’s eyes, allowing her frustration come through in her reddened, watery eyes.

“No, Santana. I mean I need help. Professional help.”

Santana’s mouth opens and closes as her brow furrows, trying to process this.

“Wh- I mean - What? Why do you - Like, mental help? Why, Q? What is this?” Santana asks through a series of stutters.

Quinn’s head ducks shamefully, but nods.

“Why do you think that, Q?” 

Making the words come out of her mouth feels like trying to push a softball up her throat, getting stuck frequently before finally making it’s way out from between her lips.

“I just… You know how I am, Santana. I can’t cope with anything, my first instinct is always to hurt everyone around me. That’s fucked up. You know it and so do I. But what’s worse…. Is that the words, stupid high school hurt like slushies and shit? That’s never where I go to first. It’s what I have to settle before, because if I acted on any of the stuff that runs through my head, I’d… And…”

Quinn sucks in a shuddering breath, losing the little control over her emotions she had, her next words coming in-between heavy, swollen sobbing.

“The things that I think about doing… to you. It’s so fucked up, Santana, it’s so fucked up. It’s horrible. I’m a horrible person, San. I’m sick. How the hell am I supposed to raise a child when I’m this… demented? I can’t ruin a child like that, Santana.”   
Quinn is sobbing so hard that trying to catch her breath is more like hyperventilating than anything.

Santana unclips her seatbelt and pulls Quinn into her, Quinn sobbing into her shoulder and grabbing onto the back of Santana’s jacket with a deathgrip.’’

Santana pets the back of Quinn’s hair, letting her cry for a long while. She never moves or complains, only whispers words of comfort to her girl, running her hands through her hair until finally Quinn stops, having cried up ‘til she wasn’t physically able to produce more tears. The most pitiful little hiccups yip out from Quinn. Now that the girl has stopped her sobbing, she just feels exhausted. Her swollen eyes stare at her hand as it draws little patterns on Santana’s back with it’s fingertips. 

“If you feel like that’s something you need, we’ll find you somebody.” Santana murmers softly into Quinn’s hair.

Quinn pulls back from her girlfriend, looking her in the eyes nervously.

“I think you should go too, Santana.”

Santana arches her brows, surprised and irritated at the implication.

“Exqueeze me?” 

“Santana, we both know you have a lot of these kinds of problems with your emotions just like I do. I mean, my thoughts might be a little more fucked up…or a lot more, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t have anger issues. You absolutely do, San. And I love you like you are, I think this is something we both need. I want… I want to be the kind of person our baby can be proud to have come from. I don’t want to put my issues onto our baby just because I think it might be a little unconformable for me, or because it’ll be hard, or whatever! We can be better than this, Santana. We have to be better than this.”

Santana sighs heavily and nods.

“Okay. I’ll go.” She says.

Quinn smiles, a load having lifted from her shoulders.

“Thank you, Santana.” She says.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She replies before pulling Quinn into a slow, languid kiss. 

A gentle smile paints her face as she pulls back. 

“Love you, Q.”

Quinn leans forward for one more kiss.

“You know that means we’re going to have to stop this little war of yours, right?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

* * *

Thankfully for the two, Santana’s parents are both out working, and will be for another three or four hours. So of course this is the perfect time to take advantage of this. Once they get into the bedroom, clothes fall from the two like leaves from a tree. It’s been weeks at this point since they were last able to touch one another, and so they waste no time. Santana can’t help but making a couple of Goonies jokes about the state of her face, swollen and discolored. “Sloth love Quinn” and the like. This cuts through some of the tension, giving the lovemaking a lighter feeling. Carefree and just… fun. 

There was of course still some of that familiar heat that the two of them can’t help but sparking up between them. It comes to them as naturally as breathing. This softness, though? The gentle kisses and featherlight touching? The laughs and smiles? These things don’t come as easily to them. And so they cherish it while it lasts.

And about two hours after arriving home, they lay cuddled beneath the sheets, taking a break, laughing along with one another as they tell stories.

“Oh man, did I tell you about my dad the other night? When he found out about us?” Santana asks.

Quinn groans, burying her face into Santana’s breast.

“No. God, don’t even tell me!” Quinn says.

Santana shrugs.

“Whatevs. The part I wanted to tell you wasn’t even about that. I found out my dad was a smoker.”

Quinn pulls her head out of it’s spot on Santana’s pillowy chest in order to look up with a skeptical look about her face.

“Your dad? As in your dad Dr. Lopez your dad?” She asks.

Santana hums in the affirmative.

“Bullshit.” Quinn says.

“I wish. He took my pack for himself, the bastard.” 

Quinn’s eyebrow cocks up challengingly.

“You haven’t bought another yet, have you?” Quinn asks.

Santana gives her a suspicious look.

“Why?” Santana asks, drawing the word out.

“Because I’m pregnant, and if I can’t smoke for nine months, then neither can you.”

Santana’s jaw drops

“What the hell, Quinn?! It’s not my fa-” Santana argues.

“You put this bun in my oven, so it’s most definitely your fault!” 

Santana pulls away from Quinn, making her outrage known as she jumps out of the bed and marches over to put her houserobe on, spinning back toward Quinn and saying down the bridge of her nose.

“For insulting and embarrassing me, I’m gonna have to punish the hell out of you, I hope you know.”

Quinn laughs freely at the ridiculous girl, who just huffs in offence.

But then Santana starts shifting back and forth on her toes.

“Shit. Okay, your punishment’s gonna have to wait. I’ve gotta piss like a racehorse!” 

She wastes no time in sprinting from the room as Quinn call out to her,

“You disgust me!”

Then it’s just her, all alone. In the silence, Quinn means to reach down to the floor for her purse and retrieve her phone, but her eyes become stuck upon Santana’s jacket, only a foot and a half away. 

_If she’s got a pack in there, I’m going to kill her._

  
Quinn groans as she reaches over toward the jacket, pulling it up into her lap.

“Okay, what all have we got in here?” 

Quinn starts rummaging around in the pockets, pulling out each item as she retrieves them.”

“Disinfectant wipes, phone, half eaten bag of Reese’s Pieces. Huh”

She’s only one pocket left to go, and when she slides her hand into it, for a moment she thinks she’s caught Santana. But on further inspection , the thing isn’t big enough to be a pack.

Quinn takes the small thing in her soft hand and pulls it out of the pocket. 

Quinn gasps, one of her hands slapping over her gaping wide mouth as she stares down at the small jewelry case in her hand. Quinn can feel her eyes burning, but decides she should confirm what she suspects before jumping to conclusions. And so it’s that thought that makes her slowly, nervously, flip the top up on the case. 

“Oh my god.”

And her suspicions were correct. Inside the case is a humble ring, but even without the glitz most tend go for, it’s the most beautiful ring Quinn has ever seen.

“Oh, shit.”

Santana’s voice comes from the doorway, Quinn turning, ring in hand.

Oh shit indeed.


	12. (I love you, but) We ain't together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Hey guys, so yeah, short chapter, but don’t kill me! I can explain myself. The truth is this is kind of a two-part chapter, with the second half being much longer. And no, there won’t be a week’s wait for this one. Because of the nature of these two chapters, and just how short this one is, chapter 13 will be out this Wednesday! 
> 
> Part two? Shit’s gonna be intense. So strap in, and remember - If you’re hungry, there’s a pimento-taco (a Pimentaco) in the glove box. 
> 
> CATCH A RIIIIIIIIIIDDEEE
> 
> \- KH

The two girls stare across at one another with a creeping awkwardness poking at the both of them. A million questions run through both of their minds, but they’re hardly even sure of what the questions are, let alone the answers. 

Santana rubs her palms up and down the frizzy old robe, static building up along with the tension; just waiting to snap into a spark of… what? Pain? Anger? Love? A spark of something, to be sure.   
Though she hadn’t previously felt the need to, Santana clears her throat, glancing all across the room at anything but Quinn, who meanwhile doesn’t even blink, not allowing herself a millisecond in which she isn’t burning Santana with that infuriating, unreadable stare.

Finally, with a harsh bite of her lip, Santana opens her mouth and allows that static to spark to life.

“The fuck are you going through my shit for, Q?” She snaps, immediately going on the offense - Hit ‘em first, and hit ‘em hard. They won’t be able to hit you back if they’re already on the ground.

Quinn doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, still somehow doesn’t even blink. Those eyes still jut deeper and deeper into Santana’s flesh, scraping against her nerves like a hundred needles. She’s not prepared for this sort of scenario. When her initial attack doesn’t even phase her opponent? 

What is that feeling? Santana is feeling… self conscious? No, that’s not right. Santana Lopez doesn’t feel self conscious.   
That sort of thing is reserved for uptight, self-loathing, insecure bitches like Quinn. And ugly people.   
Santana Lopez isn’t anything like Quinn. Well, maybe they’re similar in that they’re both kind of bitches. Okay, maybe not _kind of._ And they’re both smarter than they let on. And they both hide their deep-seeded emotional issues behind cruelty, when secretly they’re both actually no- Okay, maybe they’re a little similar. 

But one thing is for damn sure. Santana Lopez is _not_ ugly!

And so she strikes again. 

“Are you even fucking listening to me, Quinn?! Just cause you’ve had my balls in your mouth doesn’t mean the concept of ‘boundaries’ no longer exists! Don’t go through my shit!”

Still nothing. _What the fuck?_

As she storms over to the bed, Santana slams her feet against the floor as if she had a grudge against her soles. 

“Are you going to fucking say anything?! Stop staring at me like a fucking retard!”

Santana is ashamed to feel that familiar prickling at the corners of her eyes. She snatches the ringbox away from Quinn with little care, then turns so she doesn’t see the first tear drip from her reddening eye.

“Get out. Go sleep in the guest room.” She says.

Still, there’s not a pitter of sound from Quinn. Not a word, not a sigh, not even the shifting of covers signaling that she’s moved an inch from her position on the bed.

Santana’s face wrinkles up in an ugly snarl that she turns to her girlfriend, ducking into her face and growing at her,

“Are you fucking deaf, Barbie? Get out of here!”

Finally, some sort of indication that Quinn’s actually heard her. It comes in the form of a sad softening of her wide eyes as they find the tears falling from Santana’s.

“San, I…”

She trails off, her eyes flicking back down to the closed ringbox. Those softened eyes then swirl into an expression that’s full of so many things. But the one readable expression that Santana latches onto in those eyes? 

**Hate.**

Santana scoffs, tearing her eyes away from Quinn again, attempting to shrug off the fist clenching in her chest. The real trouble with her attempt to conceal her hurt, however, being the quick sniffle before her venomous words come again.

She says, “Fuck it, sleep here. _I’ll_ go to the guest room. And this?” She holds up the ringbox, Quinn’s eyes following it faithfully.

Santana continues, turning back to glare at Quinn again - not caring whether she sees her hurt this time.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I’ll get rid of it. Even if you weren’t CLEARLY disgusted at the very idea of being married to me, who the fuck said I even wanted to ask you to? Cause guess what, princess? It’s not mine. It was dad’s stupid fucking idea in the first place. Obviously I was right. Marrying you would be the dumbest fucking thing in the world I could do.”

Santana roughly pulls two pillows out from under Quinn’s elbow and storms toward the door. Quinn heaves out a watery - “Santana!” 

She stops in the doorway, fisting the pillows so hard that were her nails longer, she might rip through the case.

A long moment passes as Quinn struggles to summon any words from her thickening throat. The tears she feels oncoming blurring the sight of her other half standing in that doorway, looking poised to walk through it and out of her life. 

“I… I…”

Quinn hiccups a sob out. Santana turns her head slightly, not quite looking over her shoulder, but toeing the line.

Quinn’s eyes clench shut, head ducking and body sagging.

“I’m sorry.”

Teeth clench painfully together as Santana’s head snaps forward again. She hisses out her scorn from between them.

“Whatever.”

And with that, she leaves, door slamming shut behind her. Quinn collapses into the remaining pillows, howling her lament into them. She doesn’t know who she hates more in that moment.

Herself?  
Her father?  
Or the god he taught her to believe in? 

Her only comfort as she shreds herself from the inside is that the pillows she soaks with her bitter tears still smell like the love of her life.


	13. (I guess it's) Never Really Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N):   
> Heya! I was hoping to make this one a bit longer than it turned out, but it’s still quite a bit longer than 12 was, so I feel like the combined length isn’t bad. I have a bad habit of waiting far too long to start the chapter. I’ve also been working on three or four projects, and then I’m spending at least half my day playing Borderlands, so it’s a bit of a mess on my part. And that’s why they usually end up so short as of late. I’m trying to cut back on a couple of the other projects, so I can have more time for this story, so just hang in there, guys!
> 
> And I wanted to thank all of you for the support. It’s incredibly encouraging to be able to hear thoughts on my stories like this. I wish I could have a posse like y’all for my original stories, lol. 
> 
> I especially want to thank those of you that come back chapter after chapter.   
> I love you guys 3,000. 

The ride to school the next day was… well, it was something.   
Santana was exhausted, having gotten very little sleep last night, stuck in her head until well after two in the morning. And Quinn was still trying to get ready, trying to hide the swollen bags beneath her eyes with layers of makeup. She likewise had gotten little sleep, but after eventually cried herself to sleep. She was so emotionally worn out, though, that she ended up sleeping through her alarm, eventually waking up with less than five minutes to spare before they had to leave if they wanted to make it in time for her to get to Cheerios practice in time.

Quinn panicked when she woke up, tearing out of bed, grabbing her uniform and make up bag, then practically running downstairs to get to the car. Santana was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking her coffee, waiting for Quinn to get up. And as the girl runs by her on her dash to the front door, Santana groans and gets up to follow her out. 

As soon as Quinn gets into the passenger seat, she starts shedding her pajamas and trying to pull on her uniform in, grunting for the extra effort imposed by the awkward position.

When Santana gets in, she chuckles at her girlfriend’s expense. Quinn lets out a frustrated growl at her.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up, Santana?!”

She receives no answer, so when she pokes her head through the neck of the uniform, she turns to glare at Santana, with a question propping her brow high. Quinn scoffs when she sees that Santana is sipping on her coffee, staring down at Quinn’s bra-encased breasts.   
She tugs the cloth down to her hips, then looks back over to Santana with crossed arms.

Santana’s eyes flick up to Quinn’s for a moment before she sets her coffee in the cupholder and starting up the car. Finally she deigns to respond as she pulls out of their driveway and sets them on their way.

“I thought you were up, princess. Don’t you have an alarm for, like, 5:30?” She says.

“Clearly, I slept through it.”

Santana shrugs lightly, eyes meeting Quinn’s again for a moment as she makes a right turn.

“Well, that’s not my problem.” She says, glaring at the road ahead of them.

Quinn grinds her teeth, then turns away from Santana to pull her sleep shorts off and her spanx on.

“You’re such an asshole.”

Santana turns to Quinn, her searing words practically leaping off her tongue. She’s been anticipating this all night.

“And _you’re_ an idiot.” She snaps.

Quinn snaps her incredulous expression over to Santana, clearly not appreciating that at all.

“What the fuck did you say?” Quinn says.

“I mean, really, you’re pregnant, Quinn. Why the fuck are you still on the Cheerios? As if I don’t already know the shit Sylvester puts you guys through. You’re gonna get yourself hurt doing that shit.”

“Maybe you forgot, Santana, but we just came out as lesbians to the entire school. The last thing we need right now is for me to lose my spot on the cheerios. Everyone in that school would love nothing more than to get back at me for the shit I’ve done to them. I’m going to quit, but I’m waiting until some new scandal distracts the mouthbreathers in there first.” Quinn says.

Santana rolls her eyes.

“Please. Those motherfuckers know that if they touched you, I’d beat ‘em down hardcore. I’ll protect you.”

Quinn leans further toward Santana, saying, “You can’t just keep getting into fights with the football team, Santana! Sooner or later, you’re going to get hurt. And I’m not talking about just a bruised face! They’re a pack of morons, but they’re morons that weigh three times more than you. Plus, eventually Figgins isn’t going to be able to just ignore the constant fighting. You’re going to get yourself expelled! Then where will I be?” 

Quinn feels frustration pulling at her at the fact that Santana clearly isn’t taking any of this seriously.

“Oh, please! Those guys are a bunch of fucking pussies. I can handle them.” Santana says sardonically as she pulls into McKinley’s nearly vacant parking lot. Quinn loses her temper, hitting the dashboard with all her might as she screams, 

“Goddammit, Santana! We’ve been together for, like, two weeks and I’ve already had to watch you get your face pounded in twice! Do you know how that makes me feel?! I’m terrified that any day now one of those animals is going to shatter your skull, or give you permanent brain damage! I’m scared that I just might have to raise our baby alone!” 

“Why the fuck do you care, anyway? You’re having my kid, but can’t even think about the possibility that we could get married without fuckin’ hurling.” Santana screams back.

“Oh my god, Santana, you’re such a freaking drama queen! You said it yourself; You didn’t want to propose in the first place!”

“Yeah, well maybe I changed my mind. And maybe knowing that even if I did, you’re terrified of being stuck with a freak like me actually, I don’t know, feels shitty? Is that un-fucking-reasonable, really?” She leans forward to scream it in Quinn’s face. Quinn doesn’t back down, but leans even further into her space as she responds.

“Do you actually think I feel that way, Santana? I fucking love you, you idiot! Of course I want to marry you! But I’m sorry that my dad fucking brainwashed me so that I hate myself for wanting to marry you! Do you think I want to feel ashamed for loving you? Of course I don’t! I know it hurt you, and I’m sorry! Okay? I’m sorry! But I can’t just make it go away! That’s part of the reason I JUST told you that I need help! And clearly you do, too! Because the way you’re acting is fucking unacceptable! I show a little fucking hesitation at getting married when I’m fucking sixteen, and your response is to scream at me like I’m a fucking dog?! Fuck you!”

For a long moment, the two just glare into one another’s eyes, the air around them burning hot with emotion. It burns hotter yet, when they lunge toward each other’s lips, teeth clacking together as they kiss furiously. Quinn lets out a guttural moan when Santana bites her bottom lip so hard it breaks the skin, the darker girl sucking the lip into her mouth, and licking away the blood. Quinn doesn’t break their contact as she lifts her ass off the seat so she can pull her spanx back down her legs along with her panties, kicking them off to the floorboard. 

Santana takes the cue and climbs over the console separating them, undoing her jeans and pulling her cock out. She grabs Quinn by the thighs and lifts her hips as Quinn pulls the lever to lay the seat down as far as it will go, giving the lovers ample room to ravage one another. Santana only takes a moment to rub her cock up and down Quinn’s hot, wet cunt a moment before pushing it deep inside her. Quinn throws her head back, moaning in ecstasy. 

Santana wastes no time, Gripping the plump flesh of Quinn’s left thigh, her own left hand reaching up to push against the ceiling of the car, giving her ample leverage to thrust into Quinn, fast and hard. “Oh god, oh fuck. Jesus, you feel so good, Q.”

Quinn whimpers, digging her nails into Santana’s side, her upper body squirming about as she grinds her hips up around Santana’s throbbing cock.

Santana drops her hand from the ceiling, bending forward to press herself against Quinn, pulling her into a rough kiss as her pumping speeds up. She groans at the sensation of Quinn sucking her tongue, allowing the ends of both their muscles to circle around one another. Their lips break their contact as the two draw closer toward their orgasms, panting into one another’s mouths. Santana caresses Quinn’s face lovingly, leaning back down for one more soft, slow kiss as she cums deep within Quinn, the other girl tightening around her as she meets her own orgasm, whining into the kiss.

The two pull away from the kiss, Santana’s face ducking into the crook of Quinn’s neck, panting and laying gentle kisses at that tender area where neck meets shoulder. The kisses slow as she hugs Quinn close, Quinn’s hands rubbing up and down Santana’s back, having ducked beneath her shirt. 

Quinn holds her tighter and kisses the side of her head when she feels tears moisten her skin beneath Santana, her back beginning to rise and fall, clearly suppressing painful sobs.

“I love you so much, Santana. And I would love to be your wife. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted that? I just… I…”

She can’t finish her sentence before breaking down herself, eyes squeezing shut as her own tears begin to come.

Santana nods into her neck, mumbling, 

“I know, Q. I know.”

Quinn shakes her head, sobbing through her words.

“I hate myself so much, Santana. I hate myself for things I shouldn’t. And I hate myself for feeling like that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Santana’s cries finally come, the impact of those words hurting her deeper than anything. 

She only agreed before to placate Quinn, but now she can’t help but agree. 

They need help.


	14. She (means everything to me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): Another update coming on Thursday or Friday. A good sized chapter, but not much happens. Don’t want to leave you guys with nothing. Next two should be a lot more substantial!

After their eventful… conversation… in the car, Santana walked Quinn into the school, still empty of nearly all life under the age thirty. When they arrived outside the locker room, she gave Quinn a tender kiss and a tight hug goodbye, the nerves between them still raw, but healing. Knowing she wouldn’t be welcome to watch practice from the bleachers, Santana left Quinn to what they both knew would be a lengthy bitch-fest at the hands of coach Sylvester. 

Which brings us to now, where Santana walks through the vacant halls, arms wrapped tightly around her midsection as if trying to keep her bruised insides from pouring out of her. Even after the last month of being off the Cheerios, it’s odd for her not to go to practice every morning. Not that it’s a bad feeling, mind you, those first two weeks of being able to sleep in to a decent hour were heavenly! Since Quinn moved in, however, she’s had to resume those old habits of rising before the sun. This time, though, she doesn’t have any obligations after dropping Quinn off.

That extra hour and a half has proven to be - well - boring as shit. Because of the early hour, Santana doesn’t like playing on her phone. She has to ease into consciousness sufficiently before staring at the garish LED screen for any period of time.   
She thought this would be a good time to get some extra sleep, but last time she tried that, she woke up to Jacob Ben Israel standing over her, breathing heavily and creeping his clammy meat hooks closer and closer to her person. Santana still has no idea why he was in the building so early, but at the time it didn’t even occur to her. All that did was making sure the freak got the message that such an act was not appreciated. And while it was nice not having to deal with him in school for the next couple of days as he nursed his broken fingers, she’s not willing to chance dozing off again. 

And so she just wanders, heavy heart and turbulent thoughts dwelling upon the fucked feelings she has over everything going on with Quinn. Santana hates feeling things this extremely. Especially when those feelings are so many and so contradictory. 

She’s furious with Quinn for hurting her, while also acknowledging that Quinn realistically can’t actually be held responsible for having so much emotional damage. She’s furious with herself for not being able to cope with her own feelings, and for not being as understanding as she knows she should be. Most of all, she’s furious with Russel Fabray for making things so fucked up between them in the first place. But then there’s also the devastating knowledge wriggling in the back of her head that even if Quinn weren’t so fucked up, things would still be a mess between them, because she’s just as fucked up. 

Then there’s another thought that runs rampant through her mind, constantly robbing her of breath and driving her to the brink of panicked tears.   
If Quinn were to ever truly get better - mentally, emotionally - would she even still want her? Why would she? No person in their right mind could actually want to stay with someone like Santana. She’s not totally without self-awareness, she knows she isn’t a good person. She’s incredibly selfish. She’s cruel, and while mostly for subconsciously self-defensive reasons, she also knows that a large part of her revels in her own cruelty. 

Quinn stresses over burning in hell for being a lesbian. Meanwhile, Santana knows that if there is a hell, she herself will burn not for loving Quinn, but because she’s a bad person. 

If ever there comes a day in which Quinn wakes up and realizes just how wonderful she actually is, Santana knows she’d likewise wake up and realize Santana is so far from deserving her that it’s hilarious.

This line of thinking constantly pushes the vile sentiment into her mind that she hopes Quinn never does get better. And that, Santana thinks, is probably the worst thing she’s ever done. Every time she finds herself thinking this wicked thought, she stomps it down, lights it ablaze, and buries it’s ashes. But the mere fact that she even let such a sentiment cultivate within her makes her hate herself more than she’s ever hated anyone. Even Russel Fabray.

Which she thinks might just be part of why she was so hesitant at first at the idea of Quinn getting help, though subconscious it may have been. But Quinn’s right. They can’t keep going like this anymore. They don’t have just themselves to think about anymore. They’re bringing a life into the world. One they’re responsible for raising up. And there’s no way in hell she can screw an innocent child up like that. A child she made with Quinn. 

She has to get better, not only because if she doesn’t, Quinn might leave her, but also because a thing as perfect as their baby deserves parents that are willing to change for their betterment.

Santana feels terrible at this moment, physically as well as emotionally. Fuck, she feels worse now than she did the night Russel smashed her face in.

Her step falters when she hears a familiar voice belting out from within the nearby auditorium. Of course the hobbit would be in this early.   
Pain blossoms within Santana’s bottom lip as she pinches it roughly between her teeth. Santana releases a deep sigh, reluctant, but having made up her mind.

She pushes the doors open, stepping into the auditorium. Rachel’s feet are a blur as she tries to kick them back and forth in a furious attempt at replicating a pre-arranged tap piece, fumbling the steps even as the sounds of the boisterous vaudeville piece pour out of her perfectly.

Rachel cuts herself off mid-note and grows with frustration at her flubs, stomping a comical clack of her tiny tap shoe in a petulant fit. 

“Son of a bitch!” She screams at herself. Santana grins humorously at the unexpected swearing, crossing her arms and strolling down the aisle toward the stage with great leisure. 

“Daaaayum, hobbit! I didn’t know you had grown-up swears in your wittle bitty vocabuwary.” She says, Rachel’s head snapping up to her from where it drooped previously toward the ground in a sulk.   
Rachel’s eyes widen and her face reddens when she catches sight of Santana.

“Santana! What the he-” She stops mid-curse, clearing her throat awkwardly, and after an awkward pause re-phrases with a falsely pleasant tone of voice.

“Santana, how nice to see you! What ever are you doing here?” 

Santana snorts as she draws up to the stage, leaning against it as she smirks up at Rachel. “Nice catch there, Berry. But you’re too late, you know. I already caught you, you pottymouth. I didn’t even know you knew ‘the B word’.”

Rachel rolls her eyes, annoyance coloring her face as she ducks down to sit on the edge of the stage, legs dangling down beside Santana.

“I’m not a child, Santana. I know how to swear, I only choose not to among company. I do have manners, unlike _some_ people. Even had I not been familiar with vulgarity, after a day of knowing you, I’d have been more than well-versed in it.”

Santana releases a loud guffaw at that.

“Goddamn right.”

Rachel waves a hand toward her in a presenting fashion, saying, “Exhibit A.”

  
Santana chuckles, but her eyes quickly flick away to stare into nothing, brows furrowing together, betraying her frayed nerves to Rachel. Her curiosity piqued, Rachel opens her mouth, meaning to ask her about it, but Santana comes back to reality before she can, her eyes gliding down to the tap shoes upon her feet.

“What the hell was that, anyway? Never seen you fuck up that hardcore before. Well, outside of your wardrobe anyway. You looked like Finnocent up there.”

Rachel’s face burns bright red as she ducks her head in shame.

“The LGBTQ group my daddies and I attend every month is holding a celebratory function in Cincinnati next month, since the progressive candidate who happens to be a member of the group was just elected to the city council. I’m going to be performing with five other young members of the group. I suggested we perform a number from Cabaret, but was overruled by the authoritarian collegian music director the group leaders bewilderingly decided was an acceptable organizer of the entertainment aspect of the function. _He_ decided we simply _must_ do vaudeville. And not _just_ vaudeville, but vaudeville with tap dancing! It’s utterly preposterous. Vaudeville can be fine in some occasions, but certainly not in this setting. And certainly not this particular number! It’s absolutely vile. And the addition of tap is wholly unnecessary. And the choreography he decided upon is impossible! He obviously doesn’t understand musical theater whatsoever. After all, he only works at a community college. And you know what they say; Those who can’t do, teach.” 

Rachel rushes all this out as Santana stares at her, only a bit of annoyance at first, but as she goes on and on, Santana’s brow raises further and further, a clear indicator of her irritation.

“So TL/DR, we finally found something you suck at.” She snarks.

Rachel slaps her palm down onto the stage surface, glaring down at Santana.

“I absolutely resent that, Santana Lopez! I do not suck at tap-”

Santana rolls her eyes and hops up onto the stage to sit next to Rachel.

“Take the compliment, Frodo! RE: ‘finally’ much?” 

Rachel crosses her arms and huffs.

“As you might say, Santana, _‘whatever’_.”

Santana laughs.

“Now you’re getting it.” She says.

Rachel frowns at her before sniffing and striking back,

“And what about you? Clearly something is wrong, that something I’m assuming having to do with Quinn.”

Santana turns with a curious glare.

“What makes you say that, RuPaul?” Santana asks with an edge to her voice.

“Please, Santana. You’ve never been subtle, that’s Quinn’s purview.”

As much as she may not want to, Santana lets out a short laugh at that. Annoying she may be, but Berry sure has balls.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Santana’s words come out bitterly as she draws her knees up, arms wrapping around them in a defensive posture. Rachel’s eyes soften along with her mood as she takes in Santana’s obvious turmoil.

“Santana… What is it? I was being a brat before, but something is obviously bothering you. What’s wrong? Did something happen?” 

Santana chuckles humorlessly.

“Yeah. Something.”

Rachel sighs with frustration.

“Just because I rightly pointed out that you’re not subtle doesn’t mean you need to overcompensate and flip over towards total ambiguity.”

Rachel says in such a tone that she’s clearly fishing for some sort of mirth. None is offered, however.

Nothing is, actually. Santana just sits, lost in her head. Rachel clears her throat awkwardly, crossing one knee over the other and fidgeting.

Santana fights with herself internally. Why is she even considering talking to her about any of this? Should she, even? Would that be a betrayal of Quinn’s trust? And why would she trust her with any of this anyway? It’s not like she gives a shit what Berry thinks anyways.

But that’s the ugly truth. She does care. She actually likes Rachel Berry. Ew. 

And maybe that’s why she’s also so reluctant to tell her about this, as well. Because she doesn’t want to tell Rachel just how awful a person she really is, because she’s scared that she won’t want anything to do with her anymore. Jesus, what is going on with her? Why is she so soft lately?

Probably the baby’s fault or something. 

Shit.

Maybe this is that first step to getting better. Maybe she needs to open up to someone detached from all of this. Obviously, she needs to get a therapist or something anyway, but why not open up to a friend first? Maybe find some sort of wisdom on the subject, since she seems to be so lacking in it herself.

Oh my god, she actually considers Rachel Berry a friend.

“I guess… I should start with…”

Santana trails off, her voice shaky. She buries her face into her knees, trying to suppress her emotions.

Rachel scoots closer and sympathetically rubs Santana’s back.

“With what?”

Santana takes a deep breath. Now or never.

She looks up to Rachel with troubled eyes.

“Quinn’s pregnant.”


	15. It's the Calm (before the storm)

Silence swells between the two as Rachel tries to process what she’s just been told. After several tense moments, in which Santana tries to shut down Snix scolding her in creatively vulgar ways for ‘being such an empty-headed pussy ass cuntface’ as to open her gob in the first place. 

When Rachel does tune back into the reality of the situation, she pops like a firecracker, tongue immediately flapping at ludicrous speed as she babbles on with excitement and empathetic horror to her frenemy.

“Oh my gosh! How did this happen?! Who’s the father? It isn’t Finn, is it?! I can’t believe she actually slept with him! I thought she had higher standards, honestly. Or maybe it was Puck! I’ve seen the way he looks at her, you know. Oh my goodness, how far along is she? It happened before the two of you got together, right? Tell me she hasn’t cheated on you already! Santana, I’m so sorry. What are you going to do? I know it might hurt, Santana, but are you going to break up with her? Just remember that you love her, and she’ll probably need a lot of support right now. Oh! Do her parents know?! Does she have a place to stay? Okay, I’ll ask my dads if she can take our guest room. Though, I do warn her, early morning sessions on the elliptical might be a bit distracting, as the machine is not as quiet as I would prefer, and it is stationed in the guest room. I know, such an invasion is counter-intuitive to the purpose of a guest room, and I tried to tell my daddy about my own reservations regarding the same issue, but he insisted it go in the guest room. Apparently having a “man cave” isolated from the presence of both myself and my other father was a necessity. I know I can be a little intense, but frankly-”

Santana slaps her hand over Rachel’s mouth, growling irritatedly. 

“Ever hear of contractions?”

Rachel nods, eyes wide.

“You need contractions on steroids. That was a fucking novel, Berry. Now… if I move my hand, will you stop talking? I’ll explain everything if you just shut up for five minutes.”

Rachel hesitates, hating the idea of promising her silence in any situation. Eventually, she does nod her agreement, though reluctant. Santana is equally reluctant in pulling her hand away, freeing Rachel’s chronic motormouth. In a true miracle, though, Rachel stays quiet.

Santana releases a grateful sigh.

“It’s mine.”

Rachel’s face scrunches up in what Santana hates admitting is adorable confusion. She can’t help but see Rachel in that moment as the cutest little kitten she’s ever wanted to drown.

“I’ve got a dick, Berry. And since I don’t do anything half-assed, even my swimmers are boss ass bitches. We banged again before we got back together, that’s why things got bad last month. Q defaulted to clutching her pearls for being a dyke, and… you know, clutching my pearls. She found out when she was in New York, told me when she got back. We’ve been together since.”

Rachel’s mouth opens and shuts a few times as she tries to summon the proper words for this situation. A startling first for Rachel, as she cannot think of a single other instance in which she didn’t know exactly what she wanted to say. 

“I… huh.” Is what she eventually settles upon.

That doesn’t play so well with Santana, nerves knotting up her stomach and a thick pulse aching in her chest.

“What, Berry? Here I thought you were all miss inclusivity and shit. Can’t put your money where your mouth is?”

Rachel regains her faculties and focuses upon Santana, reading the hurt masked behind vitriol, though knowing better than to acknowledge it.

“No, Santana, I just- Well, I was just surprised is all. Of course this doesn’t change how I see you whatsoever. I’ve just never met an intersexed person before, or at least I didn’t know it if I had. The odds are I probably have, actually, for while the percentage of intersexed persons is less than two percent, so is the percentage of natural redheads. So it’s more common than most people think. But it’s not something you can tell from just looking at someone. Though I must say, I am surprised you are able to produce sperm.”

Santana’s insides untwist, leaving behind a fresh feeling of lightness and relief within her. She smirks.

“I’m able to produce all right. Got like a gall-”

“Okay, I don’t need to hear that. Please stop!”

Santana laughs and pulls Rachel into a sidehug.

“Alright nerd.”

A beat of silence between the two as each sober up, something clearly on both their minds.

Santana is the one to break the silence, “Thanks, dwarf.”

Rachel smiles. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m just being a human being.”

Santana snorts at that. “Yeah, well you know what the losers in this hellhole would have to say about it if they knew. What, they don’t count as human beings?”

“Of course not, they’re teenagers. Teenagers and real human beings are two completely separate entities. Teenagers are particularly empty-headed and lacking in common sense as well as empathy.”

Santana smiles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“About the baby? We’re keeping it. We’re going to be a family.” Just thinking about it brings a new smile to her face, this one full of love and warmth. Though it fades when she looks over to Rachel, finding a troubled look.

“What? What’s that look?”

Rachel chews her lip nervously, but then tells her, “I just… Are you sure you’re ready for something like that? Raising a child can consume you. It will most certainly change your life going forward. I don’t presume to know what your goals are for your future, but I can tell you that whatever they may be, they will be far more difficult to achieve while also trying to raise a child. Especially when you’re still a child yourself.”

Santana pulls a knee up, hugging it to her chest as frustration creases her brow.

“Yeah, I know that. You think I haven’t thought about all of that? Of course I know this’ll change things, I’m not a total moron. And I don’t know what it’s gonna be like when she arrives, but I know I’m gonna love that kid. I still don’t know what I want to do with my life, but I can tell you that whatever it is I decide to do, it’s not gonna be half as important to me as Quinn and our baby are.”

Rachel sighs.

“But you don’t think that’s kind of problematic? You can’t base your whole life around another person. You still need to have aspirations and something you can always go back to if things don’t wo-”

“Don’t say that shit! You’re gonna fuckin’ jinx me with your Jew magic.” 

Rachel groans, trying to think of ways to get her point across without being immediately rejected by Santana.

“Listen, just think about this. What would you do if, knock on wood, something happened. At any moment someone can get a horrible disease or be caught in a fatal accident. What would you do if something happened to Quinn? She’d be gone, and what would you have to keep you going? Everyone needs something, Santana. And you’re the most driven person I know. Other than myself, I mean. But you have to direct that tremendous drive toward something outside of your relationship.”

Santana’s teeth grind against one another so hard it’s nearly painful. She sits, frozen, glaring at the empty space just over Rachel’s shoulder.

“And as much as I genuinely like you, you and Quinn aren’t exactly the most well-adjusted people in the world.”

That’s when Santana snaps back to life, saying, “Yeah, I know. Quinn wants us to go to a counselor or some shit. Doesn’t want to fuck up the baby like her dad fucked her up.”

“Well, I don’t think she is capable of causing the kind of mental turmoil as Russel Fabray, but I do think it’s admirable that she has the self-awareness to recognize the unhealthy state of mind she’s been trying to cope with for so long, and is actively trying to get help. That’s a wonderful quality in a person, and particularly in a parent. Who are you going to, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Santana releases her leg, laying back onto the stage, staring up at the rafters above.

“Dunno yet. We haven’t gotten that far.” Santana says.

“Hmm. I could give you my therapist’s contact information. She’s very good, and very open-minded. Or if you want to see separate doctors, I have a few other options I could recommend.”

Santana doesn’t look to Rachel in order to mask the emotions written clearly on her face.

“Thank you, Rachel.”

Rachel beams.

“You called me Rachel.”

Santana jumps up and strolls toward the exit.

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head, Frodo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): I’m back! I’m so sorry about the delay, guys, but I’ve had an… eventful two weeks. We moved very suddenly, only now getting settled into the house. Then there was a tornado in our town, knocked out the power for about a day and a half. Found out my Aunt and Uncle have COVID, and so on. So it’s been nuts.   
> But I’m back! Short chapter, yes, but another is coming on Monday.


	16. (Let's) Sort the Whole Thing Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): This, and probably the next few updates are brought to you by Carly Rae Jepsen and Dedicated: Side B. Listen to that album, it's fucking amazing.

As Quinn leaves Santana that morning, going into class, she’s a bundle of exposed nerves. Everything seems to piss her off or just plain make her jittery. She can’t stand it. Quinn’s used to having total control of herself in any and all situations. It makes her strong. It’s because of this ability that she’s been able to play the role of the HBIC for so long. If there’s one good thing her father taught her, it’s how to suppress herself. Never let anyone know what you’re thinking. Being able to switch off your emotions is what makes it so easy to be the HBIC. To enact that type of cruelty onto others as naturally as breathing. In fact, when she’s playing the Head Bitch, the only emotion she allows herself to feel is satisfaction. Venomous pleasure that she derives from the pain she inflicts upon her peers.

But now, she’s questioning everything she’s known for all 16 of her years. The ability to close yourself off like that isn’t normal. She’s never actually met someone who could do it with the consistency and grace that she has. Her father’s temper tends to fracture his composure. Her mother’s reads as fake and off-putting. But Quinn? Nothing can break her glacial demeanor. That was, until Santana.

Quinn has no idea what it is about Santana that was able to sneak past her de- no, not sneak. Shattered, more like. Santana’s never been subtle enough to effectively sneak. She smashed through all the defenses Quinn has spent years cultivating, finding her way to stir her emotions even when Quinn desperately didn’t want her to. She had never really loved anyone before Santana. What she feels for her father isn’t what she would describe as love exactly. More like a desperate need for his approval. And though she had a fondness for her mother, Quinn has always felt a great of deal of contempt for Judy. She’s one of the weakest people Quinn has ever met, and Quinn can’t stand weakness. 

But now, because of Santana, she’s being stricken with weakness herself. She prays to god it’s just the pregnancy hormones, though she knows it isn’t. Santana has always been able to do this to her. When she wants to piss Quinn off, she can’t just walk away and order her slushied like she could anyone else. No, she engages, shouts in her face till she’s out of breath. And despite the fact that no one had truly crept their way into her heart before, Santana did so easily. Just walked into it as if it were always hers. Perhaps it was. Not that Quinn believes in destiny, or any of that crap. But so much of her feels like they were made to be together. 

And that’s a large part of why she feels so desperate to get help. If they’re ever going to have a healthy relationship, they have to work on themselves. And now, with a baby in the picture? Quinn refuses to raise a child, only for them to look at her the way she looks at her father. 

Until now, Quinn’s never done much self-reflection. She’s been so intent on ridding herself of any and all perceived flaws that she’s no longer sure who she is. Lucy was so long ago… Is she still that girl under all of this? Does that girl still exist, or did she die long ago, leaving only Quinn driving this empty, sociopathic shell of a person behind?

“Okay, that’s enough of that.” Quinn mutters to herself as she takes her seat at the long two-person table she and Brittany always share in Biology.

“Enough of what?” Brittany’s voice comes from seemingly out of nowhere, startling Quinn nearly out of her seat. After a surprised yelp erupts from her, she looks around the room, bewildered. The only soul in the classroom is herself. Or so it appeared, until a hand grabs Quinn by the ankle.   
Quinn jumps up from her seat, screeching in fear as she kicks the hand away. 

“Ow!” Brittany’s voice whines. “Why did you kick me?”

Quinn’s face scrunches up in frustrated confusion, followed by her ducking down to look under the table to find Brittany bundled up in a ball, squeezed into one of the open-faced shelves beneath the table.

“Brittany, what are you doing down there? You scared the shit out of me!” 

“Oh. I’m sorry, Quinn, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to know if I could fit in here. Turns out I can!” Brittany replies.

Quinn shakes her head, asking herself a hundred questions that she knows she’ll never get the answers to. In the end she just sighs and squats down by the shelf so she can look Brittany in the eyes as they speak.

“You’re stuck, aren’t you?”

Brittany immediately nods.

“I fit, but at a cost.” She says.

Quinn lets out a sigh more appropriate for a mother’s reaction to a rambunctious child. But she does reach down to help Brittany squeeze out from under the desk. Brittany beams at Quinn once she’s back on her feet, then taking a seat beside her at the table.

“So what were you saying? When you came in, I mean.” Brittany asks.

Quinn’s eyes flicker down shamefully, which is all Brittany needs to go off on. Her face bleeds worry, and she leans in toward Quinn, the light pressure of her body heat upon Quinn’s shoulder comforting.

“You and Santana fought, didn’t you?”   
Quinn sinks further in her seat, crossed between disgusting self-pity and worrying fury. And at Brittany of all people?

“You had sex, too.”

Quinn’s head snaps up at that, puzzlement painting a humorous picture on her face.

“What? How did- Huh?” Brittany laughs under her breath and bumps shoulders with Quinn.

“I dunno, I can just always tell when someone’s had sex. It’s like a super power. Not the coolest superpower, though. Do you think Professor Picard would let me join the X men, or do you think they’d make me stay at the mansion with the other lame super kids?”

Once Quinn recovers from the conversational whiplash that Brittany can occasionally leave one with, she smiles at the girl fondly.

“I’m sure they’d let you be an X-Man, Brittany.”

Brittany grins wide at that, pleased beyond words. Though she does offer up words,   
“Cool. I thought so too.”

Quinn, grateful the odd segue turned the conversation away from she and Santana, turns away from Brittany, triumph reading from her face. 

Brittany is quick to cut that satisfaction short, speaking back up, with her words wiping the triumph from Quinn’s face, leaving astounding disappointment.

“Why are you guys fighting?”

“We aren’t fighting.”

“Quinn.”

Quinn grinds her teeth, a frustrated growl piercing through them. Her first instinct is to lash out, shut the line of questioning down with a severe tongue-lashing. But the fight leaves her when she remembers who she’s talking to. She couldn’t hurt Brittany. It’s like kicking a puppy. God, why does she hang around so many people that can touch on all her vulnerabilities?

She sighs, and resigns herself to the fact that she just can’t keep things from Brittany. 

“I’m pregnant, B.”

* * *

Santana leans back against her car while waiting for Quinn to finish up with Coach Sylvester, who called her in for a conversation she dubbed “More important than anything you’ve ever accomplished throughout your utterly unremarkable existence.”

Santana’s knee bounces nervously. She really wishes she had thought through spilling to Rachel more. Sure, she feels better after their talk, but She’s worried about how Quinn will react. They just got over one fight, the last thing she wants to do is cause another. She doesn’t know a lot about pregnancy, since she’s never had to worry about the prospect of it effecting her directly, but she does know stress is supposed to be really bad for the baby. She also knows it’s totally gross. The puking, the vaginal tearing, your feet supposedly get massive. Thank fuck she can’t get pregnant. But on the other hand, apparently Quinn’s tits are gonna get huge at some point during this whole thing. That’s one thing she can look forward to.

Plus, the baby and stuff. Miracle of life and all. But still. Quinn tits. 

Santana’s daydreams about what’s to come relax her for a few sweet moments, before she sees said girl walking out of the school and toward her. She instantly stiffens back up at the sight. Quinn looks exhausted from her confrontation with Sue, so she’ll probably be even more irritable. As if that’s something Santana needs right now.

She can’t feel too bad when Quinn trudges up to her and pulls her into a tender hug, Santana rubbing her hands up and down Quinn’s back comfortingly. 

“Bad?”

Quinn nods sullenly into the crook of Santana’s neck.

“She knows something is up. She chewed me out for playing soft with the other cheerios lately, and definitely doesn’t like the lack of slushy flowing through the halls. She told me to grow some balls, or she’ll find someone with a bigger set than I’ve ever had.”

Santana lets out an interested hum.

“Think I should show her mine? Might get back on the team!”

Quinn smacks her shoulder as Santana laughs, pulling away slightly so she can give Quinn a proper kiss. They become lost in one another for a blissful, yet brief moment. When Quinn goes to pull back, Santana groans and tries to re-engage their lips, but Quinn turns her head with a nervous grin.

“Hang on, San.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Santana, we need to talk.”

That gets her attention. Santana’s core tightens as her face morphs into an expression of suspicion. 

“So? Talk.”

Quinn glances down at their feet, shaking her head.

“Let’s wait till we get to the house.” Quinn says.

“Oh heeeeelll no, Fabray! Nobody says ‘We need to talk’ without that being some serious ass shit. You ain’t about to pull that shit on me then say ‘It can wait till we get home’! Who do you think you are, fuckin’ Alfred Hitchcock or something? You ain’t about to keep _me_ in suspense, sweetheart. Spill.”

Quinn rolls her eyes, not only at Santana, but at herself for being stupid enough to bring it up at all until she was ready to talk. Of course Santana wouldn’t just play ball.

“I told Brittany.” She says.

Santana’s expression doesn’t change in anyway, still full of expectancy. When Quinn stops there, Santana shakes her head in impatient confusion.

“Told her what, Q?”

Quinn feels a little spark of annoyance, which comes through in her tone,

“Told her that we’re having a baby, dumbass!”

Santana’s whole body relaxes and she sighs in relief.

“Seriously? Is that it? I thought it was something bad, Q.”

Quinn’s brow raises, but not with the usual subtext of intense superiority, but instead genuine surprise.

“You’re just okay with that?”

Santana chuckles as she pulls Quinn back towards herself.

“Yeah, Q. I don’t care if Britt knows. I mean I’m surprised she didn’t already know. She’s weird like that. She knew I had a dick years before I told her.”

Quinn laughs as well at that comment.

“Probably because you take off your compression shorts as soon as you get home. That thing isn’t exactly subtle.”

San laughs again, afterward reaching to brush a golden lock behind Quinn’s ear, cupping her cheek. 

“Besides, it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to get upset about you telling Britts after I told Berry.”

Quinn freezes, the air between the two icing over in only a moment.

“You told Berry that I’m pregnant?”

Santana then freezes as well, but for an entirely different reason.

“Shit.”


	17. Hello (I'm right here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N): 
> 
> It's been a while. Honestly, it might have been much longer, but then we lost Naya. I kind of hate myself that I'm probably only back right now because Naya is gone. But I can't stop thinking about her. Every day, even if it's a good day and I forget for a while... sooner or later something always reminds me that she's gone, and I feel empty again. 
> 
> It's strange that a show that most of the time was kind of shitty was able to effect me as deeply as Glee has. And it wasn't because of the show itself. It was because of these characters. The unholy trinity in particular struck something in me so deeply that despite the fact that I stopped watching the show almost ten years ago, I always come back to these characters. And who were the characters initially? Ryan Murphy has publically stated that he wrote Quinn as a one-dimensional mean girl, but Dianna Agron humanized her. Santana and Britanny were literally extras. But Dianna, Heather, and Naya poured so much love and effort into these characters that it brought them to life, and made them surpass anything the showrunners themselves could produce.   
> And hearing Naya talk about portraying one of the first mainstream lesbian characters of color, and how much it meant to her to do justice to it for all the girls watching who might feel the same way - it meant so much more to her than it did to Ryan or any of the other writers. 
> 
> It's no understatement to say that Santana Lopez made me come to terms with the fact that I wasn't a boy. That I identified so much with girls and loved girls because I am one.   
> Maybe I would have ended up in the same place, maybe I would have ended up the same person even had Santana Lopez not been there to show me - but I sincerely doubt it. I doubt I would have discovered myself and learned to love myself when I did had I not had Santana Lopez to look to. 
> 
> Naya Rivera changed my life. I can't believe she's gone. And the fact that she was so young, and now her son will have to grow up without her...
> 
> There's nothing fair about this. 
> 
> I love you guys.

Before Quinn has a chance to say anything, Santana jumps to try and kill the fight before it even gets a chance to begin.

"Nope! No, you don't get to do that! You told Brittany, you can't be mad at me for telling Rachel."

Quinn feels that spark of anger catch her immediately.

"Brittany is our best friend, Santana. There's a big fucking difference between her and Rachel Berry! And since when do you call her 'Rachel'? Did I miss something? Last I remember it was manhands and treasure tra-"

Quinn cuts herself off and mashes her features up in frustration - with her girlfriend, but also with herself for letting Santana get to her so quickly.

She inhales deeply as she tries to center herslef, eyes closed and teeth clenched.

"You know what? Just… never mind. Fuck it. I don't want to fight."

Santana sighs with relief when Quinn's grip on her relaxes, and the two pull one another back in for a hug. Each radiates emotional exhaustion, the greatest remedy ironically being their greatest stressor as well - their closeness to one another.

Quinn inhales and releases a calming breath into Santana's hair, the scent helping to calm her.

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told her without talking to you first. You're right, it is different. But I trust her. I hate to say it, but I'm actually starting to like her. She was a big help when you were in New York. She's a good… friend."

"You and Rachel Berry are friends? No offense, baby, but that's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever heard."

Santana chuckles into Quinn's shoulder.

"You're telling me? I'm not really convinced that I'm not going nuts."

Quinn smiles and pulls back just enough that she can guide Santana's lips to hers.

"Let's go home."

—

The last person Rachel Berry expected to have show up at her door in the middle of the day is Quinn fabray. But whether she expected it or not, it's exactly what happened. What she would expect if such an uncanny situation were to ever pass, however, is that Quinn would hold that special cocktail of hate and annoyance on her face she seems to reserve especially for her. And that expectation holds true, for better or worse. At least she hasn't totally lost her grasp of reality. In the mind of Rachel Berry, predictability is power.

"Quinn! To what do I owe-"

Quinn rolls her eyes and shoves past Rachel, going for the berry's fridge with incredible haste.

"Not now, Berry."

There goes reality again. Rachel follows after Quinn in a kind of stunned daze, looking on as Quinn goes through the fridge looking for anything to quell the ache in her stomach.

"Don't you have any goddamn meat anywhere?!"

"My daddy has a separate fridge where he keeps the meat. Dad and I don't want our produce cross contaminated with daddy's immoral animal products."

Rachel says, that stunned daze carrying over into her voice, monotone drawl not entirely aware of what is going on in her very own kitchen.

Quinn growls.

"Of course. Well, where is this fridge?"

"I… I'll have to get my daddy to-"

Quinn slams the fridge shut.

When she wheels around to bore her wild eyes into Rachel, the smaller girl jumps frightfully into action.

"I'll just go ahead and fetch him."

—

Quinn really should have thought this through a little more. It's not a big deal for her - being around people who hate her. She does it every day in school. It's a natural state of being for her. What isn't natural —

People being nice to her.

"You have enough bacon, sweetie? I can open up another bag if you want!" Leroy Berry asks Quinn as he scrapes the grease from the skillet into the trash can. All the while, he looks over his shoulder and gives her a dazzling smile. It's making her stomach churn in the most uncomfortable of ways.

But that may also be from the three BLTs she's already gulped down since walking into the house.

"Yes… sir, I've had enough. I've had too much, actually. Thank you."  
Quinn stammers through her words to her own disbelief and dismay.

Rachel at this point has gotten over her shock at the situation… more or less. But now she's more curious than anything. Curious with a healthy dose of terrified. True, over the past few weeks she's gotten to know Quinn on a more personal level, and has even come to a bit of an internal understanding that Quinn isn't actually a bad person. But a very hurt one who doesn't know how to protect herself other than through cruelty.

But that still doesn't make that cruelty any less scary. I mean understanding can only get you so far. And however far it gets Rachel in this case, it's still outmatched by Quinn's raised brow - which Rachel hates to admit is simultaneously the scariest and hottest thing she's ever seen.

What? Just because she doesn't like Quinn doesn't mean she's blind. Honestly.

"Are you sure? I have plenty stored away in there. No need to be self-conscious, dear, I eat more than that on a slow day, and I don't have the excuse that I'm eating for two-"

Rachel yelps and hisses out at her father-

"Daddy! Please, can Quinn and I speak alone now please?"

She watches her father leave the room with a defensive shrug, pointedly avoiding Quinn's burning stare.

"So, you've already told your dads. I knew you weren't to be trusted. Didn't expect to be vindicated so soon, though. Thought you might have waited a few days before betraying Santana's confidence."

Rachel's head snaps over to Quinn's cold face so she can get the full effect of the trademarked Rachel Berry gasp of outrage.

"How could you imply that I would ever betray Santana's trust? I would never tell a soul something she shared with me in confidence. Well, yes, I told my daddy, but I would never tell anyone I didn't know would never tell another soul."

Quinn grits her teeth.

"And what if he thought the same way you do? _'Well, I'm just going to tell someone who would never tell.'_ Which leads that person to tell someone else, who tells someone else, and so on. So at that point, instead of just telling you, maybe Santana should have just told your father and whoever else you were planning on telling-"

"I wasn't going to tell anyone else, and I can promise you that my daddy will never -"

"Like I believe you weren't going to tell anyone else, you clearly couldn't wait to tell someone. Santana never should have never told you."

"He's my daddy, Quinn! Obviously I'm not going to tell anyone else, but my dads? I tell my dads everything, Quinn, and they know to never tell anyone anything I tell them."

"First off, you don't know that. Secondly, who the fuck tells their parents everything? That's just weird."

"Clearly I do, and it isn't weird! Just because you hate your parents doesn't mean everyone else does."

Rachel freezes as soon as she says it. And even if she hadn't of her own volition, she would have frozen over from the chilling look Quinn is giving her now. Thoughts of how savagely Quinn could destroy her - physically and otherwise - pervade her mind at this moment. Then she flinches when Quinn abruptly jumps from her seat, the legs of her chair squealing against the kitchen tile as it slides back. She glares down at Rachel for another pregnant pause before turning and heading for the door.

Rachel would have let her leave, thankful to have come out of the situation alive. But as Quinn turns to take her leave, Rachel witnesses cracks begin to form in the icy exterior Quinn wears like a suit of armor. Between those cracks, Rachel can see, ever briefly, that Quinn isn't just angry; she's hurt.

"Oh no."

Rachel leaps up after Quinn.

"Quinn, please don't leave! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was horrible and insensitive."

Rachel is horrified to find a distinct glossiness to Quinn's eyes when she turns to bare her fangs in a hateful growl,

"Fuck you, Berry! Stay away from me, and stay away from Santana!"

"Wait, no, Quinn. I didn't mean to - I - well, I don't know what I meant. No, that's not true. I meant to hurt you. But that was a horrible, unwanted reflexive feeling, and I didn't mean it. I would never consciously hurt you, or anyone for that matter."

Quinn bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood, but it's worth it in her mind, as long as she can control her own emotions. She smirks meanly, minding to keep her lips sealed as she does so as to not reveal the blood staining her teeth.

"Like you actually have the power to hurt me, Berry? Why would I care about anything you say? You're nothing."

Rachel's shoulders sag dejectedly.

"Because - and while I don't wish to try and diagnose from afar - I think you care deeply what people think of you. Which you shouldn't. But if it does in fact matter… you should know that I think you're the strongest person I know."

Despite Quinn's best attempts at emotional isolation, she can't keep the dam from breaking then. Tears burst past her lashes and streak down her burning face. She makes one last push to hold onto anger, her voice coming out with a horribly strained quality.

"Don't you condescend to me, you freak."

Rachel takes a hesitant step toward Quinn, regret-filled doe eyes beckoning Quinn to trust them.

"I'm not, Quinn. I mean it. I've always considered myself strong for keeping up in the face of the torment I receive at school, but I've always had my fathers supporting me. You know why I tell them everything? Because for a long time, they were the only friends I had. I can't imagine what it must feel like to not have that kind of love and support from my parents. For you to project this unbreakable image to the world without any real support system at all? Just the fact that you're still alive is a miracle, Quinn. That you're as intelligent and strong-willed along with it? And part of that is because of your baby. Knowing what could happen if you kept the baby, but doing it anyway?"

Quinn looks away, bitter words stinging her tongue as she spits them.

"It was stupid."

Rachel takes another step closer.

"It was brave."

Quinn feels all fight leave her, and she lets her tired body sink to the ground, back resting against the wall as she sits on the floor. She sniffles, still looking away from Rachel as she sits beside her.

"I thought you were pro abortion, Berry."

"I'm not 'pro-abortion'. I'm pro-choice. I think it's a hard decision for someone to have to make, whether their decision is to abort or not. And I know it was especially hard for you, knowing you could very well lose your home and your family. It would have been easier for you to choose to abort, but you chose the hard way regardless, because your beliefs were more important to you than your own comfort."

Quinn scoffs and turns to Rachel, eyes bloodshot.

"I didn't keep the baby because of my faith."

For the first time since Quinn knocked on her door, Rachel feels confused yet again.

"But-"

"God already hates me. Keeping her wasn't going to change that. But…"

She takes a deep breath, trying to keep from crying again.

"I kept seeing this baby that looked like a little Santana, and I couldn't let it go. And I know it's just, like, a zygote or whatever, but it's still a part of Santana. I just… I want that. I want a baby with her."

Quinn lets out a horrible laugh that mingles with her sobs in the worst way and brings tears to Rachel's eyes as well.

"It's funny. If I aborted her, God would hate me for killing a baby. If I kept her, he'd hate me for having a baby with a woman."

Rachel grabs Quinn's hand in an instant.

"Quinn, please, God doesn't hate you."

Quinn rolls her eyes.

"You're Jewish, Berry."

"My daddy is Catholic. I kno-"

Quinn turns to her at that.

"Your dad is Catholic? He's gay and Catholic?"

Rachel smiles.

"He is."

Quinn loses herself for a moment, trying to make sense of the two things co-existing within her mind.

"Is that so strange? Santana is Catholic, is she not?"

Quinn scoffs.

"In name only. Santana doesn't actually believe in God. She just says she does because she was raised to, and because she knows it would upset me if she didn't."

"And… does it?"

Quinn sighs.

"Of course it does."

Quinn stares at nothing across the room as Rachel considers her next words.

"Quinn, I think you should talk to my daddy."

"About?"

Rachel ducks her head over to intercept Quinn's line of sight.

"I think your father has bastardized your view of your religion to such an extent that it's nothing but a source of pain for you. I think you need to learn that the way your father viewed God doesn't have to define how you view God. My daddy isn't just Catholic by name, he is practicing, and he cares deeply about his faith. But he doesn't hate himself or anyone else, Quinn. You don't have to either."

Quinn scans Rachel's face with scared eyes, skeptical eyes… pained eyes. Then for moments they close, and with a determined whisper, Quinn takes control of her own mentality. Her own faith.

"Okay."

**(A/N):**

It's been a while. Honestly, it might have been much longer, but then we lost Naya. I kind of hate myself that I'm probably only back right now because Naya is gone. But I can't stop thinking about her. Every day, even if it's a good day and I forget for a while... sooner or later something always reminds me that she's gone, and I feel empty again.

It's strange that a show that most of the time was kind of shitty was able to effect me as deeply as Glee has. And it wasn't because of the show itself. It was because of these characters. The unholy trinity in particular struck something in me so deeply that despite the fact that I stopped watching the show almost ten years ago, I always come back to these characters. And who were the characters initially? Ryan Murphy has publically stated that he wrote Quinn as a one-dimensional mean girl, but Dianna Agron humanized her. Santana and Britanny were literally extras. But Dianna, Heather, and Naya poured so much love and effort into these characters that it brought them to life, and made them surpass anything the showrunners themselves could produce.

And hearing Naya talk about portraying one of the first mainstream lesbian characters of color, and how much it meant to her to do justice to it for all the girls watching who might feel the same way - it meant so much more to her than it did to Ryan or any of the other writers.

It's no understatement to say that Santana Lopez made me come to terms with the fact that I wasn't a boy. That I identified so much with girls and loved girls because I am one.

Maybe I would have ended up in the same place, maybe I would have ended up the same person even had Santana Lopez not been there to show me - but I sincerely doubt it. I doubt I would have discovered myself and learned to love myself when I did had I not had Santana Lopez to look to.

Naya Rivera changed my life. I can't believe she's gone. And the fact that she was so young, and now her son will have to grow up without her...

There's nothing fair about this.

I love you guys.


	18. All I Have to Give This World (is me)

Quinn grits her teeth as she tries to ignore to pervasive nervous bouncing of Santana’s knee beside hers. She’s been doing it without pause for the past fifteen minutes, and Quinn kind of want to tear her leg off for it. But then she remembers that’s the reason they’re here in the first place. Not the bouncing, but Quinn having thoughts like that. And so she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, thinking about the things that make her happy… like… Stephen King books? Yeah, that works. What else? That day she made Jacob Ben Israel pee himself just by looking at him. That was hilar- No! No, those are the things we’re trying to get away from. Shit. 

Santana. Santana makes her happy.

Deep breath in, deep breath ou-

“Jesus, Quinn, could you breathe any louder?”

Santana makes her happy. Most of the time… but now is not one of those times.

Quinn snaps her glare over to her girlfriend, slouching in the waiting room chair, knee still bouncing away as she grumps up at Quinn.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is my breathing bothering you? Is it distracting you from bouncing your knee like someone hopped up on fucking adderall?”

Santana sulks lower in her chair and looks away from Quinn.

“Shuddup.”

Quinn plasters a smile upon her face that’s so fake and so plastic that she looks remarkably like her mother in that moment. When she speaks it’s in a condescending, sarcastic manner that she sounds as though she were speaking to a child.

“Oh, what a clever turn of phrase from a two year old! Oh, I’m sorry, are you actually sixteen? I couldn’t tell due to the fucking tantrum you’re throwing.”

Santana sits up and growls in Quinn’s face,

“I don’t want to do this, fucking sue me! I’m shocked that you want to, Q. You’re the most emotionally closed off person I’ve ever fucking met.”

Quinn’s smile only gets bigger and faker as she leans in further toward Santana.

“And you’re a close second, sweetie.”

Santana is just about to snark back, but for a moment her eyes flicker down unconsciously to Quinn’s hands - resting on her belly, a bump so small you might not even notice it were you not as well-versed in Quinn’s body as Santana is. Her eyes soften as the fight leaves her, though she sulks back down in her chair.

“I’m sorry.”

Quinn has a similar thought pattern and then begins to sag in her own seat.

“I’m sorry too. But can you not see why we need this? I mean we can’t sit in a goddamn waiting room for twenty minutes without fighting about something.”

Santana nods.

“Yeah. You’re right, Q. I just don’t get how you’re so cool about this. A few months ago, you’d cut off your toes before going to a therapist.”

Quinn shrugs.

“What’s a toe? Lose a little balance, but you can still walk.”

Santana chuckles as Quinn smirks.

“You’re a cheerleader.”

“Not for long.”

  
“Miss Lopez?”

The two look up at the secretary waving them in to see Doctor Geiger. 

Quinn’s nervousness shows then, and Santana immediately takes her hand to ease them as best she can. 

They exchange a look that shows an incredible amount of vulnerability. They can each see the other’s fears - of baring themselves not just for the doctor to see… but for the other to see. They know one another better than anyone in the else does. But still there are things they don’t know about each other. The things so deep within themselves - the things they want to stay buried. The things they’re terrified will drive the other away. 

Their hands tighten around one another, and their eyes break away just before they go inside, as ready as they can be for what’s to come.

* * *

_Quinn gasps into consciousness, drenched in sweat and nearly hyperventilating between heavy sobs._

_“Quinn, what’s wrong?! Talk to me, baby, what’s wrong?”_

_Santana holds her gently by the shoulders, trying to intercept her eyes as they flit about the room before finally settling on Santana._

_For a moment after, Quinn seems to calm down, her breathing slowing, her pulse normalizing to some extent. But it doesn’t last long before the tears come again and she lunges to squeeze Santana as tight as she can._

_“I had this dream that… that y-you were gone. I couldn’t find you anywhere, Santana, it was so real! And I never found you, and it was just me and Beth, and I - I just can’t… Santana, I can’t live without you.”_

_Santana squeezes Quinn just as tightly, burying her face in her neck, whispering,_

_“Listen, Quinn. I’m not going anywhere. I would never leave you and Beth. I l-”_

_“You didn’t leave me, San, you- you were gone.”_

_Santana pulls back just enough to look into Quinn’s blurry eyes._

_“I was dead?”_

_Quinn bites her lip hard enough to draw blood and nods. Santana frowns and takes Quinn’s chin in her hand lightly, signaling for her to ease up on her lip. When she does, Santana swipes the bit of blood away with her thumb and kisses Quinn’s forehead._

_“I’m not dead, Quinn. I’m right here.”_

_Quinn nods._

_“But listen to me; If something ever were to happen-”_

_Quinn shakes her head, the tears coming back up. Santana cuts her off before she even has a chance to object._

_“Listen, Quinn. If something ever did happen… I need you to know that you will be fine.”_

_Quinn shakes her head again, voice strained with the effort it takes for her to force words through her thickened throat._

_“I can’t, Santana, I don’t know how to be without you. I-”_

_“You’ve done it before. And yeah, it was shitty. It was shitty for me too. But You can do it. And if something did happen to me, you have to do it. I know it’s hard to ever do anything for yourself because you think you don’t deserve it, so do it for Beth. Beth will need you if I’m ever… gone.”_

_Quinn’s eyes clamp shut, though it does nothing to stop the flow of tears._

_“You are an incredible mother, Quinn. Better than I am-”_

_“No, do-”_

_“Yes, Quinn. You are. I know I’m not a bad mom, okay? I know I’m doing the best I can with her, and that’s all I can do. But you do so much more. Your best is enough for a dozen kids. You are like supernaturally good at being a mom, okay? And I know it’ll be hard to keep that up on your own. But you have to. For me. For Beth.”_

_Quinn’s silent sobbing tapers off until she just sits silently, still not looking to Santana._

_“And I’m not saying you have to remarry or anything like that. I know if-”_

_Her words die as she tries to keep herself from crying along with Quinn, though not having the ability to keep her eyes from watering._

_“I know if I ever lost you, I could never move on. So I’m not asking you to do the same. But you have to live. As best you can, you have to live.”_

_Quinn feels the sobs begin to quake within her once more, and she finally looks up into Santana’s eyes as she cries along with her._

_“Okay.”_

_Santana nods and pulls Quinn into her arms once more._

_“I love you, Quinn.”_

_“I love you too.”_


	19. Naya

Hey guys. I've been gone a while, i know, and I'm sorry. I never meant to leave as long as I did. Truthfully, I might still be gone were it not for Naya. I'm sure most of you here now are here for the same reason I am. The idea that she's gone is devastating. And the uncertainty of whether she's alive or not... The attachment I have to these characters can't be understated. Hell, it's because of Santana and Quinn that I was able to first understand my gender issues. Even after the show went to shit, and even after it ended, I still think about it so goddamn often because of these characters, and because of the actors behind them. Santana wouldn't have been the same character without Naya Rivera, and as cheesy as it may sound, I wouldn't be the same person I am without Santana.

It seems so hopeless right now, and it's not as if I've any power to change it. Everyone is praying because that's all we can do. Well, I don't know anything about praying. But I can write. It's the only way I really know to cope with things like this, and I feel like it's right somehow.

So, I'm coming back. If for no other reason, than because I don't want to let Naya go.


	20. (I wish I was) Somebody Else

“God fucking dammit!”

Quinn laughs as Santana throws her controller across the room and pouts into her pillow. Quinn reaches over to pat her shoulder in comfort, her own controller still in hand. Santana growls into the pillow - 

“If he drops a goddamn woodblocker one more goddamn time-”

“I know, babe. I know.”

Santana shoots up to glare at Quinn properly.

“Don’t you condescend to me, goddammit!”

Quinn tries, though she just can’t help but grin at Santana’s expense.

“I’m not, I swear!”

“I’m not being ridiculous!”

Quinn looks away to hide her barely-controlled laughter.

“Of course you’re not! It’s… it’s perfectly reasonable to be upset after farming for all of fifteen minutes.”

Santana narrows her eyes at Quinn’s shaking form, crawling out from under the covers and straddling Quinn - she pinches her chin between two fingers so she can ever so slowly turn the girl’s head so as to look her in the eye.

“You’re making fun of me.”

Everyone has a breaking point. Even seasoned professionals can only take so much before they burst into tears of laughter. Quinn has always had a great poker face herself. But… come on…

  
“You are perfectly rea-”

She can’t finish her sentence before bursting into peals of strained laughter. Santana growls and starts shaking Quinn by the shoulders.

“Stop laughing at me!”

Quinn just laughs harder, shaking her head as she tries to catch her breath whenever she can. 

“I - I mean come - on, Santana!”

Santana crosses her arms and grumps down at her girlfriend.

“It’s not funny.”

“You’re mad about farming. In Borderlands. It’s a little funny, babe.”

When Quinn does eventually stop laughing, things stop being so comfortable. She notes Santana’s not meeting her eyes and any sense of fun dies in her throat and leaves a bitter taste in it’s place.

When they decided to to therapy, Quinn had been anticipating the worst; That Santana would hear the shit that goes through her head on a regular basis and would be horrified - disgusted at the vile things Quinn has thought. The things she’s imagined. 

What she didn’t anticipate was the real issue coming from Santana.

“You want to ta-”

Santana silences her by forcefully kissing her, lips bruising against one another. Quinn loses her train of thought as Santana sucks her tongue into her mouth, both of them moaning at the sensation. Quinn slides her hand up Santana’s shirt, nails dragging lightly up her back until they reach Santana’s bra strap. Quinn goes to undo the strap with the one hand, but growls in frustration when she can’t get even one of the hooks to come out right. Santana laughs into the kiss, pulling away from Quinn’s lips to smirk down at her.

“Having some trouble back there, cap?”

Quinn rolls her eyes.

“I don’t have as much experience taking them off from this angle, alright?”

Santana just grins and reaches behind to undo it herself, pulling the bra off and taking her shirt with it - leaving her bare breasts hanging only inches from Quinn’s face. Or more specifically - her mouth. Quinn wastes no time and dives forward to suck a nipple into her mouth, where she licks it into hardness. The nails she grazed up her back only moments ago now   
Scratch their way down again, carving a deliciously painful trail down Santana’s spine. 

Santana groans and grinds forward in Quinn’s lap - Quinn moaning herself when she feels Santana’s member hardening against her stomach. She guides her other hand from the underside of Santana’s unoccupied breast up her neck before grabbing at her hair roughly and pulling her back from the kiss. She presents her hand, dark eyes staring into the latina’s plump lips.

“Lick it.”

Santana groans at the commanding tone pushing the words through and complies, licking Quinn’s palm from wrist to fingertip. Quinn lunges forward again to bite and suck on Santana’s lips as she slides her moistened hand down her pajama pants and wrapping around Santana’s hard co-

* * *

“Ooooookay, that’s a little more than I needed to know. A lot more than I needed to know, actually.”

Quinn pouts for a moment before taking another sizable bite of her sandwich, Rachel avoiding Quinn’s eyes at all costs. Though not with the same tension that she had during their conversation nearly two weeks ago.   
As shocked as Rachel had been that day, seeing Quinn Fabray standing in her doorway, she had been even more surprised to find her there again the following day. In fact, Quinn had been back nearly every day after school - eating every strip of pork hidden within the house, and having long talks with Leroy Berry and even Rachel herself. She would usually spend the first half-hour or so with them in the kitchen, Leroy manning the stove with piles of bacon, while Rachel sits across from her at the table, holding a steaming mug of tea up to her nose in an effort to overpower the worryingly alluring scent of cooking pigflesh, all the while listening to Quinn as she vents to her about Santana. Speaking of -

Quinn swallows down her BLT, self-consciously glancing down at the tabletop.

“Sorry. Hormones.”

Quinn groans in frustration at herself as well as at Santana.

“Listen to me! I can’t believe I’m even saying all this crap. I feel like I’m losing control of myself. All I can think about is food and sex! This baby is turning me into Noah Puckerman!”

Leroy lets out a single loud laugh, drawing the attention of both girls, including the infamous Fabray brow.

“Something to say, Leroy?”

_Uh Oh._

Leroy clears his throat and straightens up, eyes down at the skillet below him.

“Me? Oh, no sweetie, I didn’t say anything. Well done.”

Quinn narrows her eyes at the man until he slowly turns his head to peer over his shoulder. The moment he meets her eyes, his own widen and he snaps back to look at the skillet. 

“Oh look, the bacon’s done! And would you look at the time, I’m missing Maury!”

Leroy flips the stove off, scrapes the last of the bacon onto Quinn’s plate, then powerwalks out of the room. Rachel calls after him,

“Daddy, that show is going to rot your brain!”

Quinn just rolls her eyes and continues munching on her pork.

“The point is, she dodged the conversation. She keeps doing it. Any time I try to talk to her about what happened in therapy and she changes the subject, if I persist, she seduces me. It’s not fair, she knows I can’t resist her lately. Hell, before all this it was hard enough. Now, the only things that sound good to me at any given moment is meat, and… well, **her** meat. I think her dick might be enchanted.”

In a desperate attempt to get Quinn to stop talking about Santana’s junk, she pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to cut straight to the heart of the conversation.

“So what happened in therapy that has you so worried? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Quinn rolls her eyes.

“Five minutes ago I was about to describe in vivid detail how I jerked my girlfriend off. I think boundaries are kind of a dead concept with us right now.”

She sighs and takes a healthy bite, speaking sullenly around her mouthful of bacon.

“It’s not what happened. It’s what didn’t. She wouldn’t talk.”

“Then entire time?!”

Quinn swallows her food, but instead of continuing her assault on pigkind, she grabs a paper towel to clean the grease from her fingers. Her eyes stay fixated on the tabletop, sadness swirling within them. Quinn feels so heavy in that moment. And not just from the fatty foodstuffs. 

“No, she spoke. We had some long talks with the doc. Important talks. I said a lot of things to her then that I’ve been terrified to say out loud… to anyone. Especially her. But she was holding back. I’m worried.”

Quinn looks up to Rachel’s searching brown eyes. 

“If she could sit there and listen to me say the horrible things I said, and still be too scared to talk about herself… What does that mean? What could be worse than that?”

Quinn’s eyes flinch away from Rachel’s again, to hide the deep shame pouring from them.

“What could be worse than me?”


	21. (We're young and ashamed) Perfect Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N):   
> Sup

“What’s the score?” Santana calls over to Brittany from where she’s sat on the steps leading up to the back door of the Puckermans’ house - both herself and Puck panting heavily as they look to Brittany expectantly from where they stand on the makeshift basketball court.

Brittany nervously looks up at them from the paper she’s supposed to have been marking the score onto. Instead of tallies, however, she’s drawn cartoon bunnies in business suits. 

“Um… Santana wins.”

Santana laughs and throws her fists skyward in celebration.

“Suck it, bitch! What’d I tell you? What’d I tell you would happen?”

Puck looks befuddled, throwing his own hands up, though in exasperation.

“What?! I swear I pulled it out in those last 23 points. Let me see that paper, Brittany!”

Santana steps up to him before he can move towards Brittany, glaring up at his sweaty mass.

“What, you think Britts can’t handle writing some numbers on paper? What do you think she is, stupid?”

Puck scoffs and swings his arms around as he speaks,

“No, obviously I don’t think she’s stupid. I think she’s fudging the numbers cause she likes you better!”

Brittany tilts her head with surprise, a smile overtaking her face.

“Oh wow, nobody has ever accused me of being shady before! Everyone usually thinks I’m too dumb to be shady.”

“Sure, Brit. I think you’re shadier than Jeff Bezos’ tax returns.”

Brittany ducks her head to hide a blush.

“Aww. Thank you, Puck. That’s, like, super sweet.”

Puck smirks and steps toward her, holding his hand out expectantly.

Brittany looks down at it guiltily, but hands him the scorecard anyway.

As soon as his eyes scan the page, he groans out,

“Dude, seriously?”

Brittany nods sullenly.

“You were right to not trust me.”

Santana reaches for the paper herself.

“B, what the heck?”

Brittany shrugs.

“I got bored after the first five minutes and decided to stop taking score.”

“I can see that, B.”

Brittany gets up so she can point the drawing out to Santana from over her shoulder.

“But look! I drew bunnies in business suits! It’s funny because those are people clothes.”

Santana rolls her eyes, but can’t stop a laugh.

“You’re ridiculous, B.”

“No, the bunnies are ridiculous! It’s like he thinks he’s people or something. What kind of business would bunnies do?”

Puck, cuts in, now over the lost results. 

“The same kind of business as everyone else. Bow-chicka-wow-wow!”

He hums as he thrust his hips rhythmically.

Santana cups her hands around her mouth and shouts,

“Boo!”

Puck just shrugs it off and hops up the steps into his house.

“Whatever. I gotta pee.”

As Puck goes inside, Santana takes her own seat on the steps, looking down at Brittany’s business bunnies, though now without the mirth from before. As a matter of fact, now there isn’t much in the way of recognizable emotion in her eyes. At this moment, Santana is as distant as a reality in which bunnies actually did do business - And Brittany, being Brittany picks up on that. As well as so much more.

“How is therapy going?”

Santana groans, handing the drawing over to Brittany as she sits beside her.

“How do you do that?”

Brittany shrugs, then laying her head down on Santana’s shoulder.

“I dunno. I just know.”

“Then you already know that it went badly. I mean, I’m glad Quinn was able to, you know, like say all the shit that’s been bugging her… But knowing that she thinks about fucking choking me out on the daily isn’t exactly comforting.”

“You know she doesn’t mean it.”

Santana grits her teeth and buries her face in her hands.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And we both know that’s not what’s really bothering you. She never said it out loud, but you always knew.”

“Yeah, but it’s different to hear it out loud.”

“But you still know that she would never actually do those things. And you know she wants to die when she thinks stuff like that.”

She does. And while it may have come as a shock to hear the kinds of things Quinn thinks about sometimes, Santana can’t bring herself to be upset at her about them. Quinn hates herself enough as it is, she doesn’t need Santana piling onto her about it too - especially considering Quinn is the one who insisted they go to therapy in the first place. 

“So why don’t you tell me what’s actually bothering you?”

Santana chuckles humorlessly.

“Why bother? You already know, don’t you?”

Brittany shrugs again.

“I dunno. I, like, have suspicions. But you never know if you know know until you know. You know?”

Santana’s brows furrow as she tries to figure that sentence out.

“I… don’t know? I think?”

Brittany sighs.

“Like, I don’t know if I know until you tell me. Like, I can think I know all I want, but until I know know, I don’t actually know if I knew. Does that make sense?”

Santana stares at her blankly, bringing on the rare sight of Brittany being the one to roll her eyes.

“Just say the thing.”

Santana turns back away from her best friend, unable to look her in the eye when she tells her the truth.

“I just… have this thought. I hate having it, and I want it to stop, but every time we go into therapy, or talk about it or whatever, I just think… if Quinn gets better… will she still want me?”

Forcing those last few words out of her mouth kills Santana, trumpeting through a thickened throat and dragging fat tears out of her with them. Brittany wraps her arm over Santana’s shoulder comfortingly as the other girl keeps sobbing through her words.

“I mean she has every excuse in the world for being fucked up. She was raised by a drunken, abusive piece of shit! She had to deal with how everyone treated her when she was Lucy. She actually gives a damn about a religion that fucking rejects her! Of course she’s not going to come out of all of that totally well-adjusted.”

Brittany just nods lightly, rubbing Santana’s arm up and down gently as she waits for the big thing to drop.

“I never had to worry about anything like that. I was born with a dick, and my family loves me. They’ve known for fucking ever that I’m gay and they love me. I don’t really believe in god, so I don’t care what some fucking pedos with collars think about me. No one has ever fucked with me at school or anywhere else, cause they know I won’t have it. So why am I still so fucked up?!”

Santana curls in on herself.

“If Quinn gets better and then realizes that I’m still as fucked up as ever - and I don’t really have any excuses for it… I can’t lose her, B. It’s like Rachel said, like, my entire life revolves around her. It always has. We’ve been best friends since we could fucking walk. She was the first person I told about my dick outside of my family. She’s the first person I came out to. She was the first person I kissed. The first person I had sex with. She’s always been first for me. Even last year when we weren’t speaking, I still couldn’t picture my future and not have her be there with me. And now we’re having a baby, and I’m just thinking, like if I lost her? If I lost her and our baby girl…”

Santana digs her nails into her thighs, very nearly breaking the skin.

“I don’t want to live a life without Quinn. I don’t even know what that would fucking be. And I don’t want to know.”

“Dude, we need to get you a hobby.”

The two girls turn sharply to look wide-eyed back at the screen door behind them where Puck is standing on the other side, looking at them through the mesh screen.

“What?”

Santana doesn’t blink.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Hmm… You got a dick and a baby on the way? I miss anything?”

For a solid five seconds or so, the only sounds there are to be heard are those of Puck tearing the wrapper off a Popsicle and slurping it into his mouth.

“Sounds like you got the gist of it.”


	22. In Time (everything will be alright)

Quinn sighs into the mug of hot chocolate Leroy Berry hands to her before taking a seat across from her. The two have moved from the kitchen into Leroy’s “office” - Which in actuality is less of an office and more of a playroom for the man, who - while he loves his husband and daughter dearly - needs a break from them sometimes. Anyone who knows Hiram or Rachel knows how intense the two can be. Leroy has always stuck out like a sore thumb in just how… non-neurotic he is. Berry family reunions… Well, it can be tasking.   
So every now and again he just needs his own time, his own space. A place where he can drink a beer, eat a burger, watch the game with his pants undone in his recliner. 

But now was not that time. 

“Quinn?”

Quinn’s eyes snap to the man, breaking her out of her glassy-eyed daze. That thoughtful look laced with worry and pain. A look Leroy has seen on Quinn more and more often in recent days. 

When Quinn came to talk with Leroy that first time, she had been nervous. Still uneasy and distrustful that he could treat her with such kindness after everything she had put Rachel through over the years. When he handed her that first mug of hot chocolate, she had very nearly poured it into a houseplant when he wasn’t looking out of suspicion of poison. But she is still Quinn Fabray, and she is still a semi-rational person. So instead, she just opted to not drink it. 

Leroy can read a room. He can tell when someone is uncomfortable. And though he knew the entire purpose Rachel had proposed these talks between them was so he could help Quinn reconcile her religion and her sexuality, he also knew that Quinn was terrified. Even if he couldn’t see it plain as day in her face, he remembers being in her shoes once upon a time. He remembers being that self-loathing bully who was too terrified of his own sexuality that he took it out on those around him. 

Rachel had proposed these talks before he had ever even met Quinn Fabray. Back when all he knew about the girl was that she was the reason her daughter had to bring multiple changes of clothes to school for the past two years. He hated Quinn Fabray. And when Rachel had first suggested he speak with her, he refused outright. While he could never condone throwing your own child out onto the streets like Russey Fabray had done, Leroy also found it all but impossible to muster too much sympathy for the girl.   
Even with his husband and daughter all but begging him to reconsider, Leroy stood firm by his decision. 

Then Quinn Fabray showed up on their stoop, demanding bacon. The moment he saw her for the first time - sitting at her kitchen table with her arms crossed and a childish harumph in her spirit - Leroy was stricken by her eyes. They were haunted with the same look he was forced to see in the mirror throughout his youth. The eyes of a scared child who wished more than anything that they could be someone else.   
There was no way he couldn’t do everything in his power to help her after that. 

And for a long while after that, that meant never approaching the subjects of religion or sexuality with Quinn. If he cut to the chase, she’d clam up. Backpedal. And the results would be disastrous. After all, it’s what he would have done at her age.

So they talked about everything but. Sports, books, glee - and over the past two weeks, Quinn was shocked to learn how much she genuinely liked Leroy Berry. Though she never expected it, they actually had a lot in common. But truthfully, the only one who knew just how much they had it common was Leroy.

“I think it’s time, Quinn.” 

Quinn looks up to Leroy, eyes a bit wide. 

“What’s that, Leroy? I’m sorry, I was…”

Leroy chuckles a bit before popping the cap off his bottle of cold beer.

“Elsewhere? I could tell.”

Quinn clears her throat, a little abashed, a little annoyed with herself for trailing off in the first place.

“Yeah.”

After taking a long gulp of his beer, Leroy keeps his eyes glued to the bottle, not glancing at Quinn as he asks his question,

“What kind of things did Russel say about my family and I back when you were still living with him, Quinn?”

As soon as he completes the sentence, he looks up at Quinn with piercing eyes - which of course makes Quinn’s eyes dart away to avoid facing the question head-on.

“Umm… I don-”

“Please, Quinn, I understand it’s not easy for you to discuss. I know you don’t like to discuss Russel at all. I completely understand that. I couldn’t talk about my own father for many years after he disowned me. I learned to talk about him eventually. But then when he passed, I forgot how to again. And yet here I am again, unburdened by hesitation.”

Quinn scratches her fingernail back and forth across the warmed porcelain of the mug nervously, eyes flickering back up to meet Leroy’s for a moment before dipping back down.

“It’s hard. I just… I want to not care what he thinks about me, but I can’t stop. I hate him, but the fact that he hated me first… it hurts.”

Quinn’s lowers her voice suddenly so it doesn’t break. But the implication of her pain still remains. 

Leroy nods and takes another gulp of beer before he responds.

“It never stops hurting, Quinn. But you ever seen Lawrence of Arabia?”

Quinn smirks, but with little humor behind it. She drops her eyes again.

“ _’The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts’_ , right?”

Leroy smiles, tapping his nose in confirmation. 

“That line could be the Fabrays’ official family words. No matter what you feel, push it down and put on a happy face.”

Leroy’s head dips toward Quinn, brows raised as he looks up at Quinn with a look of total skepticism. 

“You sure you ain’t thinking about Frozen? Cause that sounds more like _‘Conceal, don’t feel’_ than Peter O’Toole.”

Quinn shrugs.

“Different words, same meaning.”

Leroy tsks.

“Quinn, you’re smarter than that. I understand your proclivity towards deflection, but you lose me when you pretend to be less intelligent than your really are.”

Quinn’s brows furrow - though whether in confusion or frustration is impossible to tell. At least it is until she speaks once more.

“I’m not pretending anything, Leroy. That’s the only interpretation of the line that makes any sense to me.”

“Then you’re missing the point.”

Quinn sits her steaming mug down on the coffee table between the two, leaning forward so as to engage Leroy more fiercely.

“How do you think I survived in McKinley as long as I did? As high up as I was? You can’t let yourself feel. The guilt from the things you have to do to stay on the top, the terror of ever slipping up? The loneliness? You push it down and push through, or you get pushed off - into the sea of vulnerable losers. They ain’t exactly what I’d call words of wisdom. I’m in goddamn therapy now specifically because following that philosophy is part of why I’m fucked up. Why I’m unfit to raise my baby. I know I can’t keep pushing this shit down… But I don’t know how else to deal with it.”

Leroy leans forward himself, staring into Quinn with this intensity that she can’t figure out what to do with.

“You deal with it by not minding that it hurts.”

He reaches to the table to pick up Quinn’s mug. He leans back, not breaking eye contact as he carefully and purposefully dips his fingers into the scalding hot drink, allowing the liquid to burn him for five seconds straight, never flinching. Never allowing even a squeak of pain. Finally, Leroy pulls his fingers out of the mug, setting it back down onto the table and drying his fingers off as he speaks.

“You don’t deny yourself feeling. You let yourself feel it all. Even the parts that hurt. And you come to terms with the pain. Go ahead. Try it your way.”

Quinn stares at Leroy, concerned but impressed. When after a moment, Leroy nods toward the mug insistently, Quinn reaches for it herself.

Before anything else, Quinn shuts her eyes. She takes a deep breath in, counts to five, then with the exhale she forces all feeling melt away. She steels her nerves as well as her mental blocks so as to not let anything back inside before she slowly dips her fingers into the steaming chocolate. 

One. 

Just don’t feel it.

Two.

Okay, this is hotter than she expected.

Three.

Maybe if she bites her lip really hard, it’ll distract her from the pain.

F-

“Shit!”

Quinn yanks her hand back, sucking her reddened fingertips into her mouth, trying to lick the pain away as Leroy takes the mug away from her and hands her his still-cold beer.

“Don’t drink it, obviously. But it’ll cool your hand off.”

Quinn hums gratefully and rubs her burned fingers up and down the wet, cold glass.

“You see, Quinn, you can’t stop the pain from coming. To feel is to live. If you feel nothing, you might as well go back to sleep. There’d be no point to anything without having emotions attached to everything. And no matter how effective you may think it is, there is no closing yourself off from your feelings. Not completely. And trying will only do tremendous damage. Instead, you have to feel it all. Even the bad stuff. Because the only way to conquer something is to know it for all that it is. If you don’t understand something, you can’t beat it. And until you understand it, feel it, it will always kick your ass up and down this side of Ohio. You feel me?”

Quinn nods absently as her eyes stare into nothing, the girl preoccupied with trying to process all of this. The idea that letting yourself feel bad in order to feel better seems so backwards and foreign to her. But then again, feeling good has always been just as foreign a feeling to her. 

“And how do you feel about Hiram and I?”

Quinn recoils in her puzzlement at that question.

“How do you mean?”

“Do you think we deserve to burn in hell, Quinn?”

Quinn stiffens.

“Of course I don’t. You’re good men.”

Leroy leans in toward her and takes her hand, clasping it between his own in as comforting a fashion as he can.

“Then why do you think you deserve to?”

Quinn has no answer.

* * *

Benicio Lopez has been enjoying his day off, thank you very much. A long week at the hospital, combined with the fact that he and Maribel have been quietly stressing over the fact that not too long from now they’re going to be the youngest and most attractive (Benicio’s words)grandparents in Lima, have left Benicio feeling more exhausted than he can remember being since Santana was still a toddler wreaking havoc across the house. Now his daughter is sixteen, has a child on the way, yet is still wreaking havoc as if nothing had changed. It’s just not fair. 

But today? Today is a damn good day. Santana is at the Puckermans’ with Brittany, Quinn is at her regular appointment with the Berry’s, and Maribel is working. No noise, no sitting down for serious discussions about the future… Just a box of cold beers, the half-empty pack of cigarettes he confiscated from his daughter, and sneaking a few hours on Santana’s PS4.

Today is a good day. 

But sometime in between beers eight and ten, there’s a knock on the door. Benicio sighs, dreading the interruption to his perfect, peaceful day. He pulls his robe closed and heads down the stairs to answer the door. 

“Can I help y-” 

He cuts himself off when he opens the door to find Quinn standing in the frame, shivering with anxiety. 

“Quinn? Why’d you knock? The door was unlocked. Did you forget that you live here now?”

Quinn’s first instinct is to steel herself before she says anything. Tamp down the lump in her throat, drown the butterflies in her belly, quieten the doubts and vitriol bouncing around her brain. But then she remembers Leroy.   
She allows it all to hit her, pacing herself as she grapples with emotion after emotion before realizing at the end of it all - no matter how scared she may be, no matter how angry she may feel - it’s all worth it. Because at the end of the day, Quinn loves Santana more than she hates herself.

“Mr. Lopez, I’d like to marry your daughter.”


	23. (born) to Run

Quinn is intimately familiar with the feeling of being uncomfortable. She feels uncomfortable a majority of her day on any given day. But even someone with such consistent feelings of disagreeable-ness in her own skin, this is beyond anything she can remember. 

Her turbulent hazel eyes seek out her once source of relief. The one thing that melts that agonizing discomfort away from her shoulders. Santana. She looks every bit as uncomfortable as Quinn feels, though with a healthy dose of fury.

Quinn would give anything right now to just drag Santana into the nearest closet space and get lost in each other. Or maybe just hide away in their bedroom and cocoon themselves into a fluffy blanket burrito with playstation controllers in hand — she laughing at Santana’s unreasonable irritation at the monotony of loot farming. T-

“Miss Fabray?”

How unfortunate it is that one must always come back into the real world kicking and screaming. 

She turns her gaze away from Santana’s, having softened at the thoughts she can read from Quinn’s expression, and faces her District Attorney Joseph Kavanaugh. He stands only a few feet away, and if her eyes were to stray but a few inches to his left, she would make eye contact with her father for the first time in two months. Though they’ve been at this for the past three hours — Santana and Benicio taking the stand before Quinn — she has very consciously avoided looking in her father’s direction the entire time. What she’s gleamed from the corners of her eyes was already too much. She can just make out the blurry shape of his orange-clad body. If she were to let her eyes make the short journey to her father’s form, she would see the yellow/purple swelling marring his face. She would see the garish metal wiring his broken jaw shut. She would see the loathing in his eyes as he looks up at her on the stand.   
She knows that is what she’d see — and so she doesn’t look.

“What was the question?”

Kavanaugh repeats,

“That night -- after you left miss Lopez’s house, what happened?”

Quinn swallows, the lump going down her dry throat with difficulty. 

“I walked back home. We lived two doors down, so it was a short walk. I wanted to just sneak upstairs, go to bed. I tried to be quiet as I came in. But it didn’t matter in the end. They were waiting for me.”

Mr. Kavanaugh paces slowly from the stand over towards the center of the room. He nods in the direction of the defense.

“By they, you mean…?”

“My parents. Russel and Judy Fabray.”

“Why were they waiting for you?”

Quinn feels the urge to scratch her arm nervously, but that would be a tell. And whether she liked it or not, she was still a Fabray through and through. She doesn’t tell.  
So instead she hardens herself, reciting the facts with the dispassion of a mortician. 

They had prepared her for what had to happen. The very nature of this whole preceding meant that she’d be outing herself. Not only as a lesbian, but also as pregnant. There was no keeping things to themselves anymore. 

Fuck, she hated her father in this moment. Not only had he hurt her, not only had he thrown her out onto the streets. Not only had he destroyed their family. Now he was forcing her to bare herself to a room full of perfect strangers. 

And she had no illusions about any of this staying within the confines of these four walls. No matter what rules there might be, this courtroom was full of Lima natives. Hell, Quinn recognizes Melissa Faraday’s mom on the jury. Her Cheerios will all know about what happened by tomorrow morning. Melissa, that gossipy slut.

“He had found a bottle of mifepristone in my mother’s purse. And considering she can no longer have children… he came to the conclusion that they were for me.”

“Mifepristone being a pill for home abortions.”

“Yes.”

Mr. Kavanaugh walks back over toward the stand and leans against it as he looks down at Quinn.

“Were they yours?”

Quinn inhales slowly through her nose -- a calming breath.

  
“They were for me, yes. But I didn’t ask her for them. I believe she was going to try and make me take them without my knowledge.”

“Why would she do that?”

Quinn looks over into the crowd of onlookers to find her mother watching her. Quinn clenches her jaw.

“Because she knew I wanted to keep my child.”

“She wanted you to abort?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that?”

Quinn looks away from her mother back to the District Attorney.

“Because she was afraid of how my father would react were he to find out about the pregnancy.”

“And do you feel like that fear was justified?”

Her father’s attorney interjects there,

“Objection! Leading the witness.”

Judge Reinholdt waves a hand as he speaks,

“Sustained.”

Kavanaugh smiles tightly.

“Allow me to rephrase; How did he react?”

Quinn’s eyes flit away from Kavanaugh, into space. She can still smell the scent of whiskey. She can still see just how red his face became. She can still feel his fingers wrapped around her throat.

And finally, Quinn looks at her father. The hate in his eyes fuels her resolve. And with a voice, cold as ice, she tells them everything.

* * *

“You okay, Q?”

Santana guides her out of the courthouse, them having finished for the day.

Quinn scoffs, hating the way it sounds when her throat is so thick. 

“Am I okay? That asshole called you a freak, he told everyone about you. Everyone in town is going to know, Santana. I should be asking you if you’re okay.”

She’s not wrong. Russel’s prick lawyer went to town on both she and her father.   
Santana shrugs. Of course it’s stressing her out,the very idea of it all. She’s so not looking forward to school next week. But Quinn is upset. That’s all that matters to her right now.

“They were going to find out anyway. You know I’ll cut a bitch. But my dad’s not a huge dickwad.”

Quinn shrugs her off.

“I’m fine.”

Santana hums, not believing her for a second.

“Sure thing, sweet pea. Come on, let’s go.”

She steers her towards her car, pulling out and making a right turn.

“The house is the other way.”

“Yeah, we’re not going to the house.”

Quinn raises a brow and turns to her.  
“Where are we going, then?”

“Does it matter?”

Quinn looks to her girlfriend, seeing the mischief in her eyes and lets go of those feelings her father, his lawyer, all of fucking Lima have piled atop her. 

She gets this feeling of anticipation for nothing. For nowhere. For riding off in a direction and seeing where it takes them. She yearns for carelessness. At least for one day.

And then she feels the tiny velvet box in her pocket, and she smiles.

“I guess it doesn’t.


End file.
